


Love So Sterng II: Worth It

by mab



Series: Love So Sterng [2]
Category: It's Always Sunny in Philadelphia
Genre: Anxiety Attacks, Childhood Sexual Abuse, Dissociation, M/M, Nightmares, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Protective!Mac, Self-Harm, Vomiting, again it's mild for my writing, and don't die from it, charlie and mac get some much needed therapy, featuring a three way mostly naked fight, i mean it's the gang, mild (for me) violence, minor drug and alcohol abuse, minor for them, some blood, the boys feel feelings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-15
Updated: 2019-06-15
Packaged: 2020-05-12 04:41:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 28,625
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19221808
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mab/pseuds/mab
Summary: Mac and Charlie are still struggling in the aftermath of the shooting.  Will they become stronger together, or will they succumb to their traumas and the bad habits they've formed over decades of avoidance and denial?





	Love So Sterng II: Worth It

**Author's Note:**

> This won't make any sense unless you've read part one.
> 
> Once again, I tried to tag anything that might be upsetting/triggering. Do let me know if I missed something, and I'll go back and tag it so no one else stumbles into it. 
> 
> My bad grammar is mostly intentional. Things like calling Dennis's Range Rover a Ranger is intentional -it's Charlie, after all. 
> 
> Thanks again to my beta, Laura, aka brownwithafrown. She lets me whine to her, a lot.

Charlie has been to therapy like, six times now, and each time he's exhausted when he leaves. Like, he just wants to curl up in the dark and not talk and maybe not sleep, because he still can't seem to sleep more than few hours without waking up from nightmares after therapy days, but just be in the dark and not be anything for a bit. His therapist's (they don't like to be called shrinks!) name is Betty. Like, call me Betty, not doctor and that's really cool of her. She's pretty cool and doesn't try and force labels on Charlie. She told him it's normal to feel tired after therapy, but that he shouldn't 'actively try and disassociate' (fancy talk for: don't say 'fuck it I'm gonna float away now'). She said he should do something that relaxes him.

So usually, Mac and him go to the park after. It's nice and fall out and the leaves and rain make such nice squishy mud that Charlie could stomp through for hours, but Mac says he hates cleaning mud off the apartment floor (Charlie still hasn't gone home to his place other than to get things like his clothes), so they tend to just sit by the pond and if Charlie has found some bread they feed ducks bread.  They don't have to talk, but Charlie still 'stays in the moment' like Betty tells him he should. And if a thought or a memory gets too loud, he takes Mac's hand and Mac doesn't mind at all. It's _nice_. He likes the after therapy time more than anything else.

Betty did get the wrong impression the first time Charlie went, though, cause he showed up with Mac and Mac came in with him because Charlie got stuck at the door. Was just standing there all stuck with fear spiders crawling around his throat making it hard for Charlie to breathe or move. But Mac put his hand on his shoulder and steered him into the office and Mac sat close and glared at her a bit, and then at one point put his arm around Charlie's shoulders because Betty was asking why he came to her for therapy and then Betty asked if Mac was his partner and the way she said it made Charlie realize she meant like, boyfriend.

That had almost short circuited Charlie's brain like sent sparks to his hands and toes and made his lips buzz from the spiders and made him feel a weird feeling he couldn't name but his face got hot too. Mac had sputtered out that they were just friends and Betty had apologized for reading them wrong. That launched into Mac being gay but not Charlie's boyfriend and somehow he wound up making his own appointment with Betty too after she found out about the shooting and everything, she said Mac could benefit from talking with her and Mac actually agreed. Mac goes in first and then Charlie, because they did it the other way and Charlie got floaty in the waiting room after waiting for Mac so Betty said it was better if Charlie wasn't alone after his appointments.

So, yeah. Six weeks of this was nice. But it's getting chilly and Charlie's not sure how much more park time after today they have to enjoy, so he's reluctant to get off the bench today. His cast is off and his face is all healed, which is nice. He's got a few little pink scars on his face from the guy's foot or the gun, but Dennis gave him some scar cream. He doesn't put it on the lines on his chest and stomach, cause who's gonna see that anyway. He feels weird as shit when he does it – it's a thick cream and it's all goopy, and he feels like a chick in a makeup commercial when he smears it on -  but Dennis wanted to help so he puts it on every morning. He's absently rubbing at the little scar along the corner of his eye, thinking on all this and scars and how the winter is coming and he's worried about giving up this quiet time with Mac.

"We gonna do this all winter?" Charlie asks. It's on his mind and he's not good at not asking what's on his mind.

Mac looks down at him confused. "Go to therapy? Yeah, dude. It's helping, right?"

Charlie's not so sure it's helping. He still has nightmares like a lot – at least every few nights and anytime he thinks of Jack, of telling his mother like Betty says he should, Charlie gets so sick he could throw up. But he's not drinking too much or taking any drugs other than the anxiety pills – not even huffing things other than when he cleans with bleach and does that really, really count? Mac does seem to be doing better with the idea that he killed that asshole – it helps that the police told him they weren't charging him with anything, it was clearly self/friend defense.

"Yeah, I guess it is," he agrees, finally, cause Mac is looking at him waiting on an answer. Mac's has nightmares too, once or twice they've woken Charlie up, but Charlie doesn't know what the nightmares are about. Charlie's are a mix of what are probably memories from when he was a kid and about the shooting. His brain won't leave him alone. "I mean going here after," he adds after a moment. He's trying very hard not to spiral himself up thinking about nightmares and probably memories and how the winter means no more hanging out with Mac for a few hours before they head into work – about all of it, really.

He must be spiraling himself up a bit, though, and it must be showing, because Mac reaches over and takes his hand and gives it a squeeze. "Yeah. Until it snows or something. Then we might have to find another place to go. I don't wanna sit here in the snow."

Charlie nods, relaxing a little. He doesn't care where they go, as long as it's just them together. He smiles, and closes his eyes, enjoying the heat on his face from the fading fall sun. They won't get many more days like this. There's a buzz from Mac's pocket, and he lets go of Charlie's hand to answer.

"Oh, shit," Mac says, under his breath, and that pulls Charlie out of his sun warming daze enough that he opens his eyes and looks at the other man.

"What?" He asks, because Mac is frowning at his phone, biting his bottom lip, but not saying anything.

"Frank's at the bar." Mac says, after a moment, still looking down at his phone. The screen's timed out and gone dark again. But Mac is still looking at it.

"Oh," Charlie says, and adds after a whole ten seconds of silence from Mac: "Cool." Because one of them needs to speak.

Mac looks at him, and his face is sad. Pound Puppy sad, but he says: "It's good. You have your roommate back," like he's happy. But his eyes don't match his words.

"Huh. Yeah, I guess I do," Charlie says, and stands up. He's not sure how he feels about this. But it's been like, a long ass time since he saw Frank. He should be excited.

"Let's go, then," he says to Mac, who looks reluctant to go to work and see the old man.

Charlie kind of gets it. Everything that happened was Frank's fault, after all. Charlie's still not sure if he is still angry at Frank. If Mac is. From the weird face not matching his words thing, and the slow way Mac nods and gets up, Charlie wonders if Mac knows how he feels either. A year ago, Charlie wouldn't have poked him on this, but they've been through a lot in the last three months. Betty says it's growth, Charlie thinks it was just a bunch of shit.

"You okay, dude?" Charlie asks, as they walk towards the exit and where Mac parked the Ranger. "We don't have to go in, if you don't want to see Frank yet." They kind of do. Dee and Dennis had to pick up a lot of their slack when they were hurt and there are still like, way too many rats in the basement to deal with and Charlie's sure he'll never get up the stains that set in the place while he was out (true to his promise, Dennis made Frank pay to get the blood and stuff off the floor, but there were beer stains and mold stains and urine stains to deal with).

Mac looks at him, gives him the look that says 'you're not getting it Charlie,' but he doesn't know what he's not getting and Mac doesn't correct him. Just shrugs and says: "Nah. It's okay. We can tell him what an asshole he is to his face, now."

Charlie nods. "Yeah. Sounds good." He says, but he's not exactly eager to do that. Frank fucked up big time, pissed off the wrong kind of people, didn't even tell them who he pissed off, or what he did, but he has been footing the bill without much complaint. He paid their hospital bills, and pays for both Mac and Charlie's sessions with Betty. Charlie isn't sure he wants to risk pissing off Frank too much – he doesn't want to lose going to therapy, and he's sure he can't afford to go without Frank paying. Or worse: what if Frank gets so mad at them that he decides he wants to sell the bar? Frank owns a big chunk. Could they even keep Paddy's open without Frank's help?

They reach Dennis's Ranger. Charlie gets in, and after a weird hesitation, Mac gets in too.

"What's up?" Charlie asks him. Three months ago, Charlie probably wouldn't have bothered to dig into how Mac was feeling, but that's not really them now.

Mac shrugs, and starts the SUV, heading towards Paddy's. "I dunno. Just wish he gave us some notice, I guess. Who just shows up after three months?"

Charlie nods. "Yeah. I'm not sure my head's right for this." It's hard to admit that. Another thing he might not have done four weeks ago, even.

Mac turns to look at him, almost smashes into a sleek little black car that blares its horn. "If it's not a good idea…" he trails off, because he probably has no idea what their other choices are. Go hide at the apartment?

Charlie waves a hand. "It's fine, dude. Just weird."

Mac looks back at the road and nods. "Yeah. Very weird."

They don't say anything else for the entire trip back.

+++

'That went about as well as expected,' Mac thinks, as he rushes behind the bar to wrap some ice in a bar towel. The office door slams so hard the bottles behind him rattle. He looks up at Dennis and Dee, who stand on the other side of the bar, staring like twin baby deers.

"Well, shit," Dee says, but she doesn't sound all that surprised that Charlie just attacked Frank.

"Yeah," Mac agrees, wincing as a scream tears out of the men's room, loud and raw in a way he hasn't heard in weeks. "You guys got—" he starts to ask, intending to find out if one of them will look in on Frank, not that he really deserves it, but there's a sound of smashing glass from the bathroom and Mac is running before he fully processes the sound.

Mac finds Charlie sitting on the floor (ew), holding his bloody hand to his chest, rocking back and forth. There's glass all over the place from the mirror Charlie punched. Getting closer, crouching down, Mac realizes Charlie is muttering 'fuck fuck fuck' under his breath as he rocks. He doesn't even look up when Mac settles down on his knees in front of him.

"Hey, man. Look at me, Charlie," Mac practically begs. He's not seen Charlie this bad aside from nightmare induced panic attacks in a long time. He's not sure the other man is getting any air from the way he's gasping for it. Fuck. Charlie doesn't look up, doesn't stop rocking, doesn't stop muttering 'fuck' under his breath.

Fuck indeed. Mac decides this is too much. He sets the improvised ice pack on the floor and gets up. Charlie doesn't track his movements as he goes over to the cabinet under the sink and digs around in the very back. Hidden in an old ant poison box is a few of Charlie's anxiety medication. They had stashed it there when it became clear that Charlie might need a cache of medication at work, but was likely to forget to bring some in, but maybe didn't want to tell the rest of the gang when he had to take them. Good thing they're in here.

Mac pops a pill out of the blister pack, frowns, and pops out a second. Betty the Shrink switched Charlie to this stuff that dissolved under the tongue after finding out how hard a time he had coming down after nightmares. Said it worked more better. He shoves the rest back in the box and returns to Charlie, who is still rocking and cursing under his breath. There are tear tracks on his face – those are new.

Fucking hell. Mac's chest is so tight with worry he can hardly breathe. He sinks back down to his knees, and Charlie doesn't even look at him. "Charlie. Put these under your tongue." He holds out the pills. Charlie's eyes follow his hand, then look at Mac blankly, like he doesn't understand. "It'll help," Mac promises, in case Charlie is so far gone he doesn't recognize his own meds.

Charlie stares at the two little pills on his open hand for a long moment before reaching out his left to take the pills and pop them in his mouth. He doesn't swallow, so Mac hopes he's letting the pills dissolve under his tongue like he's supposed to. Charlie just looks at him like he only half recognizes Mac, and it makes Mac feel so sick he thinks he might cry himself, but he can't, not right now.

So, instead of crying he says: "Breathe, Charlie," and yeah it comes out like a plea.

"Can't," Charlie chokes out, voice wrecked.

"Okay, try with me." Mac says, careful to keep his voice calm and gentle despite how afraid he is that Charlie is just going to, like, stop breathing and pass out, and settles in next to Charlie since eye contact right now isn't a help at all. Or something Charlie seems to want. "Remember the box breathing thing Betty told us about?" That had been on the first visit, when Charlie had panicked in the doorway. Mac's talked Charlie through it a dozen times since then, after bad dreams or whatever made Charlie freak out. Hell, Charlie helped him do it a few times, and he's talked himself through it more times than he'd like to admit. Shit actually worked.

Charlie makes a sound that might be yes, might be just responding to Mac's words because he thinks he has to. Mac isn't sure.

"Okay, I'll count for you?" He sounds more anxious than hopeful that Charlie will be able to breathe with him, but Charlie gives the smallest of nods, so Mac counts him through it.

It takes more tries than Mac likes, but eventually, Charlie is at least breathing slower and doesn't sound like he's about to pass out. He's shaking everywhere, probably has been the whole time, but Mac was more concerned about the lack of proper air than anything else. Mac smiles at him, says quietly: "Good job," because validation is a good thing, Betty says.

Charlie tips his head a little so it's resting on Mac's shoulder – another rule of Charlie panic attacks they've discovered over the last month and a half: Charlie initiates all physical contact. Mac is just happy he does because it usually means he's coming out of the freak out.

Seconds, minutes tic by. Dee or Dennis don't come in. Frank sure as fuck doesn't. Mac would feel worse about the fact that Charlie almost surly broke Frank's nose with that punch if Frank hadn't been such a douche and deserved it. Mac's only upset that Charlie is upset.

Frank hadn't been in a good mood by the time Charlie and Mac got to the bar. And announced that the twins were 'riding his dick' over what happened to Mac and Charlie. And Charlie must have made a face or something that indicated he was pissed too, because Frank, in a moment of sheer stupidity said: "What? You're still mad? Mac's fine. He's a fag but he's tough," or at least he started to say the word tough, but Charlie punching him and then tackling him cut him off. Mac had watched Charlie wind up for another punch, speechless and frozen to the spot in shock, and though 'oh shit, Charlie's gonna kill Frank' and then Charlie punched the floor right next to Franks head, twice, like that's where he was aiming and then got up off of Frank like he hadn't just tackled him to the ground. Charlie went to the bathroom, Frank to the office.

And now the ice that Mac was getting is a wet puddle seeping into the leg of his Dickies. Damnit. "Can I see your hand, Charlie?" Mac asks, hesitant to break the calm silence they're in, but remembering that Charlie had hit the floor hard twice and then the mirror makes him ask.

Charlie sighs and sits up so he can hold out his right hand across to Mac. Charlie's t-shirt is soaked with a big red stain where it was resting against his chest. For a moment, Mac finds himself unable to breathe, remembering a similar stain on his own chest, but he reminds himself that this is different. A small injury. Nothing bad at all.

Charlie looks at him, eyebrows raised, but not saying anything because he's not ready to talk yet. Mac forces himself to give a lopsided smile he really doesn't want to, but wants to reassure Charlie more. He gently takes Charlie's hand in his, and frowns, carefully picking out a piece of mirror sticking straight out of Charlie's third knuckle. Charlie doesn't wince, which is worse than if he did. Mac sighs, he can't see much under all the blood, but Charlie's fingers are the size of sausages, purple under the red blood and probably swelling up more and more by the minute. Mac frowns and lets go of Charlie's hand, feeling weird just holding it.

"Dude, why did you hit the floor?" Mac asks, before he can stop himself.

Charlie sighs heavily, looks at Mac and then away, back down at his hand in his lap. "Frank's an asshole, but he's like seventy-five, man. I wanted to scare him, not kill him."

That's more logic than a raging Charlie normally has. Maybe therapy is really a good thing for him. Six months ago, Charlie would have killed Frank. Or at least hospitalized him.

Speaking of hospitals. Mac sighs and says: "You need to get your hand looked at, Charlie. I think you broke some fingers. And you might need stitches."

Charlie frowns and shakes his head quickly. Mac can hear his breathing pick up, can see the new panic creep into Charlie's body. Shit. But, still. This is a fight that Mac is determined to win. "You have to, man. Hands are important. It's your right hand too. You need to get it taken care of. I'll go with you." He says the last part in the hope that such a promise will sway Charlie, but he doubts it will. Charlie can be stubborn as fuck when he wants to be.

Which the man in question proves by shaking his head and pulling his knees up to his chest, broken and bleeding hand pressed tight against his t-shirt (another shirt lost to blood, Mac had hoped they were over doing that). Charlie rests his head on his knees, all curled up small like Mac will sometimes find him in the corner of his (after so many weeks, it's it their?) bedroom after a nightmare that's not really a nightmare but a memory upsets him. It breaks Mac's heart every time, and now is no different. Charlie looks so small like this, and that makes Mac super protective. He wants to go smash Frank's face into a wall for upsetting Charlie, for having the nerve to come back without warning and picking a therapy day of all days to show up – but none of that will help. Betty thinks Mac has some serious anger issues, her words, and has been helping him do things like think 'will it help the things I'm upset about if I go smash Frank's face into a wall' and shit if that doesn't stop him from doing stupid shit -- like leaving Charlie on the floor of the men's room to go smash Frank's head into a wall.

But Mac can't do that, it won't help anything. So instead, he carefully puts an arm around Charlie's shoulders, hoping that this time it's okay to touch first. To his relief, Charlie leans into him a bit, doesn't go any more tense. For a long moment, there's silence, then Charlie talks quietly. "They're gonna lock me up, Mac. It's, like, the third time I'll be there for something I did to myself."

_Shit_. Mac's not sure Charlie is wrong. But he can't keep bleeding all over the place and sit there with broken fingers – what if he broke some of the smaller bones in his hand? Mac's seen guys that broke their hands punching shit and didn't get it looked at and how they couldn't even make fists with their hands when they got old. Mac rubs Charlie's arm under his hand and shakes his head, trying to force all his conviction into his voice, even if he's not positive. "Nah, remember last time? You nearly killed yourself," fuck Mac's voice cracks on the word killed, and Charlie shudders next to him, Mac feels like such a douche for bringing it up, but it's a valid argument so he presses on. "You nearly died, and they let you go home. This is nothing. People punch walls and mirrors every day."

"But…" Charlie trails off, like he's not sure he's got anything to argue back. He's still breathing too hard, all hunched up like he is. Mac would love to see his friend's face right then.

Mac doesn't say anything, knows Charlie hates being cut off, but Charlie doesn't say anything more either. Mac rubs his bent back, wishes he could get Charlie to uncurl. But when he's like this, Charlie's a turtle and Mac can't do much more than what he is already doing.

Finally, after what feels like an hour, Charlie sits up, rubs his left hand over his face and says: "Fine. Let's go. I'm fucking tired of getting stitches, bro."

Mac doesn't say he's really tired of seeing Charlie hurt and bleeding. Instead, he sighs out: "I know, buddy."

+++

Charlie's whole body is tingling. He has to lean on Mac on his way into the apartment from the Ranger. Mac is kind of annoyed, kind of laughing too. Charlie can feel his feet, but not his legs, so walking is hard, and he needs Mac's help.  Always needs Mac's help, he thinks, as Mac opens the door to the apartment one handed, the other holding Charlie up.

As it turns out, IV Morphine on top of a double dose of his anxiety meds has made for one very loose, boneless Charlie. The leg thing is so _weird because_ it's like his legs are dead and only his feet have survived. Mac dumps him kind of gently on the couch, and huffs at him. Charlie is giggling at the 'I'm not really grumpy but I'm trying to be' face Mac pulls. Charlie can't help it. Shit's funny.

"You weigh a ton, dude." Mac whines at him.

Charlie waves his splinted and stitched hand dismissively at him. "Nah. You're super strong. You got me."

Mac stands there with his hands on his hips for a minute longer (trying not to puff up at Charlie's compliment and failing) and then shakes his head, unable to hide his amused grin as he turns and heads over to the fridge. He comes back with two beers.

Charlie knows he's shouldn't mix all the meds and beer. But it's just one. Whatever. Mac has to twist the cap off for him. When Charlie sobers up, he's going to be really upset about being down to one hand again, and this is the hand he uses for everything. But for now, he's decided not to think about it. Better that way.

Mac sits next to him, closer than he would normally, but Charlie thinks he scared Mac a lot this afternoon by freaking the fuck out, so he figures Mac deserves the closeness. Charlie doesn't mind it at all. And he's just stoned enough that he's brave enough to lean over and put his head on Mac's shoulder. Charlie's getting better at taking physical comfort when he needs it. It helps that Mac and Dennis made him swear to shower every other day if he was staying with them, *and* if he does anything especially gross at work, so Mac can't complain that Charlie's too gross to hug.

They sit in silence for a while, not even turning the TV on. Finally, Charlie can't take it and says: "I'm sorry I got upset and hit Frank."

Mac pulls away from him to look down at him like he's crazy. Considering he just had to tell a doctor he punched the floor and then a mirror rather than punching someone, Charlie knows the look. But Mac's look has some disbelief in it while the doc just looked like Charlie was a crazy idiot. There's a slight difference in the look, and Charlie's been getting both his whole life. "Damnit, Charlie, I don't care that you—"

"-he called you a fag!" Charlie interrupts before Mac can keep talking and say that he doesn't care why Charlie hit Frank. It's important that Mac knows why, even if he doesn't care. "He called you a fag and made it sound like you getting shot was no big deal and you almost died and it was his fucking fault!  And that's not okay!"

Mac holds both hands up. "I know, man, I know. I'm just saying. I don't care that you hit him. He kinda deserved it. I'm just upset you're hurt, is all."

Charlie looks at the beer bottle in his left hand and nods. "Oh," he says, after a minute because Mac is still looking at him like he expects Charlie to say something, but Charlie doesn't know what to say.

Mac sighs and leans back on the couch. "You don't have to defend me, Charlie. We're not kids anymore. I can defend myself." Mac doesn't sound angry when he says it, just tired. "Especially if defending me is going to get you hurt."

Charlie turns his head to look at him. Sometimes it's so weird, it's like he sees the six-year-old version of Mac he met way back in kindergarten. Even now, they're over forty and Mac's got no more baby fat at all, he still looks the same with the Pound Puppy eyes that shout 'love me, love me, please someone' at Charlie sometimes so loudly it hurts. The first day of kindergarten, Charlie knew the other boy was just as lonely as he was and they made fast friends while everyone shunned Mac for his scary father and loud mouth and Charlie for his weirdness and dirty clothes. Charlie grins and shakes his head at Mac. "Nah, dude. Never gonna happen."

"Charlie—" Mac starts but Charlie cuts him off again.

"You got fucking shot because that guy was beating me up and you were trying to protect me, Mac! So you're one to talk about getting hurt protecting someone!" It's a dangerous topic, they don't talk about That Night when they can help it. Charlie only ever really does at Betty's, or if a really, really bad nightmare has him waking up shouting Mac's name and he can't deny what he was dreaming about.

Mac looks away from him, down at the floor and then back up at him and gives Charlie a sad little smile. "I guess that's true," he gives. Mac never used to admit the other person won an argument before seeing Betty. Charlie thinks Betty's doing a lot of good for Mac, he's glad Mac came with him the first time. "But not with the gang, okay? I don't need you punching Dennis next."

Charlie laughs. "How about Dee?" Even though he'd probably never hit a chick, Dee was more like a sister, and siblings fought, right?

Mac laughs too and shakes his head. "Only if she pisses you off talking about you, man. Don't worry about me. I can hold my own with them."

Charlie sighs, but doesn't argue further – it's not worth it. Mac's gonna keep on seeing it his way, and Charlie will just have to keep doing what he wants. Mac probably saved his life That Night and definitely did the other That Night when Charlie accidentally ate too many pills on top of a bottle of vodka. Even before Mac did those things, Charlie would defend his friend, if someone wronged him like frank did. If Mac really thinks Charlie will stop defending his friend just because Mac asked, then Mac doesn't know him. Then again, from the slightly annoyed look he's getting, Charlie is sure Mac knows Charlie won't ever stop defending his friend. He figures Mac won't ever stop defending him either.

Finally, Mac sighs too and shakes his head. "Whatever, Charlie," he says to the unvoiced thoughts. Good to know Mac knows him so well. Charlie just grins at him; glad he's 'won' this argument. "Wanna watch a movie?"

Charlie nods and settles back into the couch cushions more while Mac starts flipping through the on demand choices. Between the crazy anxiety of the day and the meds, Charlie is asleep on Mac's shoulder before he even picks a movie.

+++

Most mornings since he kind of sort of moved in to Mac and Dennis's apartment, usually go like this: Mac wakes up first so he can hit the gym, come home, and shower before work. Charlie could sleep in, but Charlie doesn't sleep well alone in a bed. So he usually wakes up, takes a shower if it's a shower day, and just putters around until it's time to go to Paddy's. It's a simple routine, but one that's worked. Charlie's even getting better at telling which days Dennis wants his morning alone, and which days he won't mind Charlie joining him on the couch for breakfast. Nice and simple.

Except today. Mac is shaking him and Charlie thinks he's buried under like, sand, it's so hard to wake up. The second he opens his eyes, he realizes that's a bad idea – the light makes the pain in his head flare up so bad he groans, and pushes his face into the pillow. Ever since That Night, Charlie's gotten random migraines. His throat feels burny like it does when he spent half the night screaming, but he doesn't remember that. It wouldn't be the first time he didn't remember waking up. If he woke up at all. His head hurts bad enough that he doesn't even think about the fact that he's laying on his stomach, broken hand under his chest.

He can hear Mac walking around the room, trying to be quiet, closing the blinds and shutting off lights. Hears him come back to the bed. "Migraine?"

Charlie nods and rolls onto his side so he can pull the covers up over his head and block out the sound and noise.  Maybe so he can also pull on his hair with his free hand, and not get yelled at. Above him, he can hear Mac sigh. It's taken Charlie a while to understand that when Mac sighs like that, it's because he's upset Charlie's in pain, not that he's angry. In fact, Charlie suspects that Mac likes to take care of people, likes to feel needed. Which is good because Charlie's currently unable to move enough to help himself.

Mac leaves the room; Charlie hears him tell Dennis quietly: "Migraine. He's staying home," before they move away from the door and Charlie is left with silence and what feels like a knife stabbing him in the face behind his left eye.

A few minutes later, just long enough for Charlie to wonder if Mac and Dennis left to go to Paddy's, he hears the door open again, things clink down onto the bedside table. "I brought meds. Can you sit up?" Mac asks.

Charlie thinks for a minute about whether or not he can, then forces himself to do it because he's already a pathetic baby, but it feels just as bad as when the gun was smashing into his face, bad enough that Charlie is surprised he can open that eye at all, it hurts as bad as it did then. But his face isn't swelling. He squints at Mac who's standing there looking down at him all sad.

"I'm sorry—" Charlie starts, but Mac holds up a hand. Which is good. Talking hurts.

"Don't be, bro," Mac says dismissing Charlie's apology. He turns and starts popping tops to medicine bottles, the telltale crinkle of Charlie's anxiety meds – he frowns at that, he doesn't think he needs that, but Mac in nurse mode is not someone to fight. And Charlie didn't have the energy to fight if he wanted to. Right now he's leaning back against the headboard and it's all he can do to stay upright.

Mac turns around with five pills in his hand. Two of the over the counter migraine pills Mac had run out and buy the first time Charlie got a migraine and they all maybe thought he was dying, until Dennis looked up signs of a stroke on his phone and made Charlie smile to prove he wasn't having one (did having a stroke not make you want to smile? Dennis kept saying he wouldn't be able to smile if he was having a stroke), two of his painkillers from the hospital, and the anxiety pill Charlie knew would be in the mix. Mac has a glass of water in his other hand. Charlie fumbles to pick up four of the pills with his left hand and swallows them back with the water before he takes the anxiety one and lets it sit under his tongue.

He tries to slide down into a curled up little ball again, but Mac's hand on his arm stops him. "Ice on your eye," Mac reminds him, gives him the bag of frozen peas that have 'for Charlie's face' written on it in fat black marker in Dennis's handwriting because for some reason, Dennis felt that they should never eat that bag of peas (Charlie thought no one should eat peas ever).

Charlie presses it against his not swelling but definitely throbbing eye and temple, and curls back up on his side. He doesn't pull the blanket over his head yet, because Mac is still standing there, shifting his weight from foot to foot and looking at the bedroom door. Shit. He wants to stay with Charlie.

"Go to work," Charlie says, before Mac can offer to stay. Mac's more likely to go if he believes it's Charlie's idea, Charlie's sure of it.

Mac frowns at him. "No, Charlie. You've only got one hand and now you're—"

Charlie cuts him off. "We've taken too much time off, man. We didn't even really work yesterday. Just go in. I'll be fine. I'll call you if I'm not. I promise." He waves his splinted hand to the beside side table on his side, where his cellphone is, all plugged in. It's a smartphone too. Because Dennis and Mac and Dee all ganged up on him about not being able to read his texts so they wanted him to have a phone that he could talk into that would type for him – Charlie had argued that that was a dumb idea, he wanted to text so he didn't have to talk, and they told him if they couldn't understand him then what was the point of texting? And then Frank announced he could buy it as a business expense which meant, as far as Charlie understood it, that Frank was buying, so Charlie stopped arguing and gave in. Now he's gotten real good at talking in the little pictures anyway. And because he's living with Mac and Dennis, they remind him to charge it.

Mac is still looking like he wants to stay home, but the door opens and Dennis comes in. "You ready?" He asks Mac, quietly though, which is nice.

Mac looks at Dennis and then at Charlie. "You're probably just going to sleep, right?"

Charlie nods, then realizes how dumb of an idea that is and says: "Yeah."

Mac bites his lip then says: "Fine. Check in when you wake up. Call if you need anything."

Charlie gives the thumbs up with his fucked up hand -his thumb is fine because he knows how to make a fist and not break his thumb, at least, when he throws a punch-and pulls the blanket over his head. He almost doesn't hear Dennis say: "You are such a mother hen," but it's in a teasing way, a nice teasing rather than mean way, so Charlie ignores it and waits until the pills have melted into his blood so he can sleep again.

He wakes up too hot under the blankets, sweating and unsure why there's something plastic and slimy on his face for a long moment before he remembers: migraine. Said migraine is gone, but there's a pounding that it takes him two whole minutes to realize someone is at the door.

He goes there and opens it up, forgetting to look through the hole before he unlocks the door – they must have locked him in – and is shocked to see Frank standing there. For a minute, Charlie almost closes the door in his broken face (Charlie definitely broke his nose, if the swelling and black eyes are anything to go by). But Frank must see him go to do it and holds up a hand.

"Wait, Charlie, I just wanna apologize," he says, and he looks so pathetic and small and old that Charlie decides to step back and let him in.

Frank gives a small smile, a fidgety smile, which is fair, Charlie did punch him in the face and tackle him to the ground the last time they saw each other. Maybe punching the floor next to his head did scare him. It fucking hurt. So Frank has a right to be fidgety around him.

"Dennis and Deandra read me the riot act after the two of yous left yesterday," Frank starts, because Charlie is just standing there looking at him, feeling weird that he's in his sleep clothes and Frank's fully dressed. Feels weird standing there, period, so he goes and sits on at the table. A new kitchen table because Charlie broke the other one falling over it drunk and on too many pills that bad night he tries not to think about. After a moment Frank follows and sits down too.

Charlie realizes that Frank wants him to say something. So he says: "I'm not really sorry they did that," because he's not.

Frank shakes his head. "I don't expect you to be. I just mean…" he trails off and frowns. "Deandra showed me the pictures she had sent Dennis. The two of yous in the hospital."

Charlie bites his lip. He hates the idea of those pictures, didn't know that Dee still had them on her phone. It was creepy and weird to think he was so out of it that he didn't know she took his picture – even if Charlie accepted why she had to take them, to get Dennis to believe her, Charlie doesn't like the idea of people seeing him and Mac like that.

"I didn't know it was that bad," Frank continues on, pulling Charlie out of his thoughts.

"Mac _died_!" Charlie shouts, unable to help it. Behind his eye throbs a bit, reminding him how he started today, but he can't stop himself. "His heart fucking stopped, Frank! The doctors said they were scared!"

Frank holds up both hands. "I know that now, Charlie. I didn't before, I swear I didn't."

Charlie has spent a lot of time with Frank. More than anyone else in the gang has, and he was Dee and Dennis's father (kind of) for fuck's sake. He knows when Frank is lying and when he's being sincere. This is sincere and sorry Frank. Still, he doesn't say anything. He can remember how it felt to hear that Mac's heart had stopped while he was in surgery, that his friend for like his whole life almost didn't come back. And Frank made light of all that, called Mac a fag on top of it. He doesn't want to give Frank any easy out. So he stays quiet.

Frank sighs. Says, quietly: "You didn't look so good yourself, Charlie," in that gentle voice Frank only ever really uses with him. Charlie thinks that might be a Dad voice, but he doesn't know.

Charlie gives a little laugh. It's not a happy laugh. "I don't think I'm so good now," he admits. It's almost nice to say it, to admit it out loud that the whole thing fucked him up good. "Between That Night and fucking remembering—" Charlie stops himself, snapping his mouth shut. He doesn't want to talk about what he's remembered from being a kid. Even if Frank probably guesses as much as everyone else had guessed, and Frank's been there for ten years of nightmares and all of Charlie's general night - and day - weirdness, Charlie doesn't want to say it. Doesn't want to make it even more real than it already is. Wants one less person to know about it in the world. Charlie feels like everyone knows about it, just looking at him and they know, but Betty says that's just a para-something. Silence stretches on between them and Charlie can't look at Frank, afraid he'll see understanding there on the old man's broken face. So he forces himself to talk, brush past what he almost said. "I keep getting these migraines and I'm not sleeping so good and…" he trails off.

"That shrink chick helping?" Frank asks. Right. Frank knows about Betty because he's paying for Betty.

Charlie nods, looking up at him. Frank does look really concerned. "Yeah. She is. Kinda. She's probably why I didn't kill you yesterday," he says with a sad little smile.

Frank nods. "I thought so…" Frank trails off. For a minute he's quiet then he says: "Dennis told me about him beating up Jack."

Fuck. Charlie's mouth goes dry. Frank knows and Charlie can't stop that. He doesn't say anything. Doesn't look up. He bites the inside of his lip and lets the silence and weirdness stretch out between them. Tries to breathe in through his nose cause his teeth are locked on a chunk of skin.

Finally, Frank says something: "I won't invite him around no more."

Charlie's realizes, after a silence that goes on forever, Charlie tasting blood and hearing his pulse in his ears, that Frank wants him to respond or something so he nods. Can't trust his voice to speak.  

He doesn't have to speak, because that's when Mac throws open the door to the apartment. He's breathing heavy, looking at Charlie and Frank like he wants to put Frank up against a wall but can't get his breath caught up enough yet to do it. Any time Charlie sees Mac like this, breathing too hard, it makes Charlie scared as shit and he hates it. Because he knows Mac will be fine, that he's just catching his breath, but he got shot in the lung and Charlie can remember the feel of his weak breath pushing against his hand, can hear the wheezing gasps for breath Mac took on the floor of Paddy's That Night.

"You're…an...asshole Frank," Mac says between gasps for breath, leaning his hands on the table and breathing slower now. "I fuckin' ran here," Mac says to Charlie, explaining his gasping breaths, then glaring back at Frank. "You were supposed to stay away from here and stay at Paddy's!"

"I had to apologize to Charlie," Frank says, and he seems a bit guilty, a bit defensive.

"It could've waited!" Mac snaps, loud and angry and Charlie stands up because Mac is still breathing heavy and he just ran from Paddy's to here which is like, longer than someone who got shot in the damn lung three months ago should run, but there's nothing he can do about that so instead he goes to the fridge and pulls out a beer for Mac and hands it to him as the other man stands there breathing heavy and glaring at Frank. No one says anything about Charlie's hands shaking.

"It's okay," Charlie says, quietly, hopefully loud enough to be heard over Mac's breathing.

Mac looks at him and twists open the beer like he'd rather been twisting Frank's neck. Charlie understands that impulse and just waits.  Mac finishes the whole thing in two long sips – he's getting better at chugging, though not enough to beat any of the gang at it. They stand there awkward and Mac glaring at Frank.

"Maybe you should go," Charlie says to Frank, once it's clear Mac has nothing more to say to the old man.  

Frank nods and stands up. "See ya, Charlie," Frank calls over his shoulder as he leaves the apartment.

Mac and him stand there. Charlie's not sure what to say.

"That fucker waited until I was in the goddamn bathroom to sneak out of Paddy's and come here," Mac says, sounding kind of lost himself, but at least he's got his breath back.

"Yeah. Dee and Dennis told him off yesterday. Showed him the pictures of me and you in the hospital. Told him about _everything_." Charlie's voice cracks a little extra on 'everything' and he hopes Mac doesn't ask what he means by everything.

Mac doesn't. "I'm not going back. I left Dee alone and she's gonna be pissed," Mac says, smiling a little, like pissing off Dee is the best possible outcome for today. It might be.

Charlie smiles back, glad that they got through the whole thing with no violence today.

+++

They go a few more days before things go to shit. Mac's kinda impressed it goes that long. It starts going downhill for Mac when Charlie moves back in with Frank on Friday. Mac knows he should be glad things are finally back to normal, or what counts as normal for the gang. And he is. He's glad Charlie and Frank are getting along, glad to have his whole bed back (he thinks), but…yeah. Not really?

He kind of got used to having Charlie in his bed, having someone there. And maybe Mac got used to being able to know that Charlie was okay cause Charlie was right there and obviously okay. Now he has no idea if Charlies taking his medicine like he's supposed to, or if he's eating right (probably not) or having panic attacks in middle of the night or something? There's only so many times a night Mac can text a thumbs up question mark to Charlie to check in. All he ever gets back is a thumbs up back. He can't tell if Charlie's lying, so the check-in is not a comfort at all other than assurance that Charlie's alive.

It's now Monday. Monday means that he didn't see Charlie at all yesterday, cause they're closed on Sundays. Monday means that tomorrow is Tuesday and tomorrow is the day they go see Betty, which means Charlie is usually on edge all Monday, and so is Mac a lot of the time, if he's being honest with himself. So Mac is eager to see him, for those reasons, okay? Just those reasons.

Except Charlie isn't in the bar when he and Dennis arrive. Charlie always has Frank bring him in early on Monday because he has to get the bar towels and shit cleaned and he thinks the rats are worse because they had a day off of being chased. He thinks they can follow a calendar and swears up and down that when they revolt – 'and they will revolt!' – it will be on a Monday.

Frank is at the bar, drinking a beer and reading the newspaper. Mac checks behind the bar, and yup, only dirty towels, no clean ones. Shit. Dennis gives Mac the funny look he's been giving him since, like, Friday, but doesn't say anything.

"Where's Charlie?" Mac asks Frank, choosing to ignore Dennis's pointed looks that he doesn't want to think about.

Frank looks up from the paper, blinking like a big dumb panda at him. "Uh, basement."

Mac nods, turns to head down there but Frank stops him by saying: "Is it me or has the kid's sleeping gotten worse?"

Mac stops and turns around. "What do you mean?" Dennis is watching him, not Frank, and that's annoying, Mac thinks, absently, as Frank frowns and puts down the paper.

"Just, ya know, not sleeping much. Every time I wake up he's sitting up on the bed in the corner like a gargoyle. It's creepy, is all. And making it very hard for me to have any alone time."

"Okay, Frank," Dennis says, as Mac's anxiety goes from like a four to a seven as he processes what Frank said, "if by alone time, you mean jerking off while Charlie is asleep next to you, neither of us want to hear about that."

Mac nods stiffly. Just to make it clear his position on Frank talking about rubbing one out. And then turns to go down the stairs to the basement when Frank shouts at Dennis that it's perfectly normal ('no it's not with another grown ass man in the bed next to you!').

He doesn't see Charlie in the first room. Not too unusual, he knows Charlie's not exactly a fan of the furnace. The second room, the one that's more a long hallway where they line up the boxes of extra booze and napkins and shit, that's where Mac finds Charlie. He's sitting slumped against the wall, twisted away and doesn't even move when Mac turns the corner – not a great sign either, fuck! Mac's heart is hammering in his chest.

"Charlie?" He calls out, and he almost flat out has a heart attack when Charlie turns his head to look at him, cause the lower half of Charlie's face is red and Mac thinks Charlie's having a stroke or something but then Mac takes in the sock and the fact that the red is on his nose too, not just under his nose like he was having a giant nose bleed (and it's not at all like the night Charlie's face was all blood from being kicked and hit with a gun, Mac has to remind himself).

"Hey man," Charlie says, and he's high as fuck, Mac can tell just from those two words. He knows what stoned Charlie looks like and sounds like, knows the different levels.

"What's goin' on?" Mac asks, and feeling stupid standing while a high as balls Charlie sits there swaying at him, Mac moves to sit on the concrete across from him.

"Oh…you know," Charlie answers evasively, and goes to spray into the sock again. Mac's not sure if he's clumsy because of his splinted and injured fingers on his right hand making him have to reverse how he usually does this and hold the spray paint in his left hand, or the fact that he's high as fuck.

"No, I don't," Mac answers back, aware his voice is getting loud and angry already. Charlie flinches from it, or it might be from Mac reaching out and ripping the sock from Charlie's injured hand, and then the spray paint out of his left with even more violence. He throws the spray can at the wall at the end of the room, hears it smash. Charlie twitches again.

Mac sits there. Charlie looks everywhere but at him. Mac wants to reach out and grab his paint stained face and make Charlie look at him. He has enough self-restraint not to, but it's a near thing. Gets nearer the longer Charlie twitches and scratches at his beard, the hair at the back of his head, crosses and uncrosses his arms. This is why Mac hates Charlie high on this shit – he gets twitchier and more paranoid, and Mac now knows how damn high Charlie's daily anxiety is. Getting this fucked up won't help.

Unable to watch Charlie scratch at the back of his neck again, Mac reaches out and takes Charlie's hand so he can't do that anymore. "Why'd you get stoned, man? You were doing good." Mac wants to blame Frank, almost asks Charlie if Frank said something to upset him. But he doesn't want to upset Charlie by accusing Frank either – it's a very difficult balance, talking to Charlie when he's like this. Mac doesn't want to make him angry.

Charlie is staring down at their hands. He shrugs, shoulders moving out of sync. He doesn't try to pull his hand back. That's (hopefully) a good sign.

Mac runs his free hand over his mouth, tries not to get angry. High Charlie is either a twitchy chatter box, or a quiet twitchy mess stuck in his own head. Quiet Stoned Charlie is always a dangerous thing. Quiet Stoned Charlie is prone to sudden outbursts of violence, sometimes towards others, but only ever really (accidentally, Mac hopes) hurts himself. Quiet Stoned Charlie is the Charlie who eventually goes up into the Bad Room and screams and breaks bottles and doesn't care if the glass cuts him when it bounces around in the small space.

"Okay. Frank said you weren't sleeping so good. That true?" Mac asks, careful to try and keep at least some of the frustration out of his voice. But he's mostly frustrated because he's worried, his heart is pounding so hard in his chest he thinks he might have his own panic attack.

Charlie gives that weird rippling shrug again. "Maybe? I dunno. Sometimes I don't sleep so good. 's normal."

"You were doing pretty good with me," Mac answers, and it sounds more sad than he means it to.

Charlie looks up at him finally, and pulls his hand away. Charlie's eyes are pained and sad, but he says: "I'm fine, Mac. Just felt like getting high."

Mac frowns right back. "Be careful with that shit, man. I dunno how it interacts with your meds."

Charlie waves his right busted up hand dismissively, and crosses his arms over his chest. "Not a problem. I dumped that shit down the sink."

Mac's heart rate practically doubles. He's going to have a heart attack down here and Charlie will be too stoned to help him. Fuck. "Why--Wait--What do you mean you dumped it? Which ones?" Mac really doubts it was the opiate painkillers from the hospital that he got for his broken fingers.

"The anxiety shit, bro. I don't like it. I don't want to be all slow and shit." Considering how slow Charlie's voice is, tripping over words it normally doesn't trip over, that's a bit absurd of a reason.

"Yeah, Charlie. That's the point of taking it! You're supposed to slow down when you're spiraling!" Mac realizes he's shouting, and sighs, closing his eyes and taking a deep breath like Betty tells him he should when he's angry. "Sorry," he mumbles, embarrassed. Now that Betty's got him aware of his anger issues, he feels like shit every time he gets angry. Mac opens his eyes and Charlie is just looking at him. They sit in silence. At least Charlie isn't trying to get away, Mac tells himself. Finally, a question occurs to him: "Hey, Charlie?" He asks and when Charlie is looking at him, he asks: "Why are you worried about being slow?"

Charlie looks at him blankly for a moment, but his eyes are panicked, and then shrugs. He picks at the split around his right pointer finger, face relaxed by his eyes are wild and darting around. Mac realizes he's not going to get a better answer than that and signs again. "Alright, man. We'll talk with Betty about it, yeah?" He tries not to sound too frustrated, he does, but Jesus he is frustrated!

Charlie looks up at him, eyes wide and worried for a minute, then nods once, before looking back down. He yawns, a jaw popping kind of yawn, and Mac realizes that under the obvious signs of being stoned, Charlie looks tired as hell. Mac's been waking up every few hours himself, so he understands, he does. Mac thinks of how every time he's texted Charlie to check in since Friday, Charlie had responded quickly, always awake too. He can't find the words to talk about that, though.

Instead, he says: "It's Monday dude. We've got no clean towels. I'll tell Dennis it's super ratty down here and make him let me borrow his car to take them to the laundromat."

Charlie looks up at him, all droopy eyed and surprised. "I can—" he starts to protest.

Mac cuts him off. "Nah, it's cool. I'll take them. Maybe you should just, like, hang out down here and take a nap or something?"

"Mac, I can't let the rats see me napping down here on a _Monday_! They'll eat my face!" Charlie nearly shouts it, and it's such familiar Charlie logic that Mac smiles despite the unpleasant mental image.

"Maybe in the office?" Mac suggests.

Charlie seems to think it over and nods.  Mac smiles at him and gets up, going over and picking up the spray paint from where it rolled under a disused table. He holds it up for Charlie, who's still sitting on the ground looking like he may sleep down here after all. "No more paint. Or anything, man. Promise me?"

Charlie frowns at him, never one to enjoy being told what to do, especially when it comes to drugs, but he sighs and nods.

"Cool," Mac says, almost to himself, and can't help but add: "I'll kick your ass if I do Charlie Work and you're just hanging around getting stoned some more, got it?"

A smile ghosts across Charlie's face, gone before Mac can actually enjoy it. "Alright, jeeze." Charlie grumbles, hands up.

Mac smiles back at him and nods, taking the paint with him as he leaves. Not that he's not sure there are more spray paint cans or a thousand other things Charlie can get stoned with in the basement alone. But he hopes he can trust Charlie to be good.

+++

Charlie is going to die.

He's sure of it.

His heart is pounding so hard in his chest it's hard to breathe. Mac is in with Betty. Has been for, like, fifteen minutes? And Charlie knows, he fucking _knows_ , once Mac comes out Betty is going to fucking shout at him for dumping the little round melt in your mouth pills down the sink. For getting high. She's going to ask questions about him hitting Frank and the floor and the mirror and she's going to be angry and disappointed that Charlie finally proved to her he's as stupid as he says he is but she normally says 'No, Charlie, you're not stupid,' when he says he's stupid, but this time she'll have to say 'yes, Charlie that was very stupid'. Mac's probably in there saying how glad he is that Charlie's out of his apartment and his bed, since Charlie is a mess of a human being and weird and stupid and was totally in Mac's way all the time...And _Jesus Christ_ he can't breathe.

He needs to walk. When he stands up to do it, everything goes swimmy. His head is killing him, and he's not sure if it's a spray paint hangover, or what, but he manages to stay on his feet. He's out the office and down the hall and outside and in the rain before he realizes that his feet didn't want to walk around the office but leave the office. That happens sometimes, his feet just do their thing and Charlie is left following.

It's pouring rain. Like, Charlie was still damp from being out in it, and _shit_ he left his jacket on the little waiting room couch and it's cold but he can't make his feet go up into the building again and he's soaked through already, shirt sticking to him, so he just decides to let his feet walk, fuck it.

He walks past the Ranger parked on the street, and he almost gets in, cause it's dry and he kind of likes sitting in a car when it's pouring out, being all dry but kind of in the rain, but he can't get himself to stop and he walks right past, unsure where he's going but knowing at this point he just has to go go go.

Charlie walks. His feet eventually start squeaking in his sneakers, he can feel the skin on his toes go all wrinkly. He can't figure out how he can feel his toes go all wrinkly but he can't feel his legs, just his feet slapping wetly on the ground. Squish squish squish.

Charlie doesn't realize it's coming until all of a sudden he's bending forward and puking up his guts into the gutter (is that why it's called that?) and a car splashes him as he's straightening back up. Because of course it does. He's suddenly so tired, has been tired for like, days, man, but he can't lay down and he doesn't even really know where he is and his hands and feet are buzzing with all the 'go go go' the fear spiders are kicking up in his blood. So he walks.

He walks and he walks and he shakes (when did that start?) and maybe his brain isn't really in his head, because suddenly just, like a cut in a movie he is sitting down on the bench in the park by the pond and it's dark, really dark and someone is shouting.

"Charlie! Jesus Fucking Christ! Charlie!"

_Oh._ It's Mac shouting. Charlie blinks water out of eyes – rain dripping down his face or tears? -  Charlie doesn't know. He turns around on the bench and Mac is running at him down the hill that slopes down towards the pond and he must slip in some mud because Mac goes down shouting: "Fuck!" as he goes.

Charlie gets up, ignores the swimmy spotty vision that pops up and goes towards Mac. Mac gets up, slips and almost falls again, but keeps his feet under him and starts towards Charlie again and then they're close to each other and Charlie has a second to think: ' _Huh. Mac_ _'_ _s really mad._ ' Before pain explodes in his eye from Mac's fist hitting it and he nearly falls over.

Then he does fall because Mac tackles him to the ground, screaming: "You son of a bitch!"

All the air leaves Charlie's lungs and he lands with Mac on top of him, Mac's knee pressing on his lower stomach. Mac gets two hands around his neck, and he's choking Charlie and Charlie gags, trying to pull Mac's hands away but he can't get a purchase on him between the wet clothes and the splints on his fingers and Mac is shouting, still, screaming: "I thought you were dead you bastard! I thought you fucking threw yourself off a bridge or slit your wrists, you bitch!" And on and on, all the ways Charlie could have offed himself with a lot of curses mixed in, shaking Charlie's neck, lifting his head off the ground and slamming it back down --Charlie is glad the ground is wet and soft or it would hurt more than it does.

Charlie thumps at Mac's chest, manages to get a good slap in to Mac's face, the split on his middle finger catching Mac's cheek and opening up a cut. It makes him loosen his grip on Charlie's neck. Charlie gasps in a very much needed breath and twists his hips sharply, throwing Mac off him. Charlie keeps rolling over until he's on his hands and knees, coughing and gasping for breath. He kind of wants to just press his face into the muddy grass under his face and lay there.

"Fuck!" Mac screams, angry still, but not sounding _violently_ angry anymore. That's good. Charlie isn't sure he can fight off another attack.

Charlie forces himself up onto his knees, turns and sees Mac sitting on his ass, breathing hard. Mac runs his hand over his eyes, and Charlie watches him spread mud on his face. Slowly, Charlie realizes that Mac is crying and trying to hide it now. All he does is get mud in the oozing cut on his cheek.

"Goddamn it, Charlie," Mac says, so quiet Charlie almost doesn't hear him over the rain and wind and the pounding of his heart in his ears.

"I'm sorry," Charlie says, just as quiet. His brain is kind of fuzzy and tired and he starts to slump down towards the ground, but Mac stagers up to his feet, reaching down and pulling on Charlie's arm until Charlie gets up too. Mac doesn't let go of his upper arm, and that's good, because Charlie sways on his feet.

Mac takes out his cellphone from his hoodie pocket and starts writing a text as he pulls Charlie along towards the entrance of the park. Charlie doesn't care who Mac is texting. It's hard enough for him to put one foot in front of the other.

Eventually they get to where Mac parked Dennis's Ranger. Charlie's arm feels cold when Mac lets go to go around to the driver's side. He gets behind the wheel, looking over at Charlie. They're both soaked through and filthy. "You're going to clean the seats tomorrow."

Charlie makes a sound that he hopes is agreeing enough. The sound ends on a cough ( _fuck his throat hurts_ ) it must be agreeing sounding, because Mac doesn't say another word about it. He just drives through the pouring rain, cursing a bit when the car hydroponics in a puddle, but otherwise quiet. Charlie isn't sure if it's cause Mac is mad at him, or trying to pay attention to his driving. Either way, he just sits there quietly and tries not to fidget too much incase it's an attention thing - he doesn't want to distract Mac. He's caused enough problems.

The clock on the dashboard says 2:43 when they pull up in front of Mac and Dennis's building. Charlie's almost surprised he's not in front of his own building, but he's just too grateful to be here that he doesn't say anything. Just follows Mac up to the apartment, and takes off his shoes, and then wet socks just inside the door, cause that's what Mac does. At some point in his childhood, Charlie learned to mimic people when he wasn't sure what to do. Usually, as an adult, he does know what to do, or he just asks. Right now, he doesn't want to disturb the silence between them wish a silly question about what to do when he can just follow Mac's actions. 

Charlie is shivering, he realizes, violent shakes that are making his teeth chatter. Mac frowns at him and Charlie knows he's trying to still be mad, but he looks more worried than angry. "Shit, dude. We both need a shower."

For one crazy moment, Charlie thinks he means together, but then he remembers that it's Mac and Mac doesn't think of him like _that_. So he forces himself to breathe in and nods.

Mac points at the bathroom. "You go first. Don't lock the door. I'll bring in something for you to sleep in."

There's about one person in the world that Charlie is okay with coming in the bathroom when he's taking a shower, and it is Mac, so Charlie nods again without argument and goes into the bathroom. He tries to take a quick shower, he really does, but the water is so warm and Charlie is so cold. He only gets out when he remembers that Mac is also soaking wet and covered in mud.

There's a pair of sweat pants and a t-shirt on the counter when he gets out. Charlie frowns at that - he didn't even notice when Mac came into the bathroom. That's not good - maybe his brain is still kind of floating? Can you half disassociate? Charlie doesn't know. He's not sure he cares. He's more here now than he was earlier. That has to count for something. So he just gets dressed and leaves the bathroom. Mac is in the kitchen area.

Mac looks up when he comes in and smiles a little - if Mac is smiling at him like that, does that mean Mac isn't so angry with him anymore? Then he stands up and holds out one of the little foil squares that holds Charlie's anxiety pill. _Shit_. Where did Mac even get that, if Charlie dumped the others? Maybe it's one from bathroom at Paddy's? Or did Mac keep a few to have on hand at the apartment? Charlie's not sure which answer would be weirder, and he doesn't think he needs it, but he's shaking as he reaches out and takes the foil packet from Mac. So maybe he does need it, because Charlie doesn't think the shaking is from the cold anymore, his skin is all shower warm.

Mac eyes are still a bit sad, but he smiles again when Charlie takes the pill and lets it melt under his tongue. "Go lay down, dude. I'll be in bed after my shower." Says it like he knows Charlie is just going to share his bed again.

Charlie wonders if Mac will be mad he falls asleep on the couch. But he remembers how warm Mac's bed is, how cozy and comfortable and safe he feels, close to his friend in the bed. He hates sleeping on the couch because it's all out in the open in the big apartment.

"Yeah. Okay," he agrees. Charlie's voice is wrecked, either from being in the rain for hours or the choking. Or both.

Mac frowns at him for a minute, then heads into the bathroom. Charlie gets into Mac's bed, thinking his face or throat should hurt, but they don't. He still feels oddly numb.

It's not long before the bedroom door opens again, and Mac is shuffling around in the mostly dark bedroom. Charlie's eyes are closed, but he's sure Mac knows he's still awake. They both know he doesn't sleep well alone.

Mac sides under the covers.  For a long time, he's silent. Then, quietly, in the dark, he says: "You really scared me, Charlie. I thought you were dead."

Charlie's reminded of sleepovers when they were little kids, curled up together in Mac's bed or Charlie's bed once his uncle moved out and Charlie had his own room again (no, no, not thinking about _him_ now), whispering secrets. He has to breathe for a few moments, just in and out like Betty taught him, and Mac must hear him breathing like a box because he reaches out and puts a hand on Charlie's shoulder.

Finally, when he thinks he can talk, Charlie clears his throat. Says: "I'm sorry, man. My brain kinda went away."

Mac snorts a laugh, and that reminds Charlie of sleepovers too - being so tired they got stupid, back when the only drug Charlie ever really used was glue, and the lack of sleep made them light headed and giddy. "No shit, dude," Mac says, and he sounds so much like when he was ten and Ronnie that Charlie has to reach up and touch Mac's hand on his shoulder, to remind himself that it's a grown adult's hand and not a child's.

Their fingers slip together and Charlie falls asleep holding Mac's hand.

It's the best sleep he's had since he moved back in with Frank.

+++

Someone is shaking his shoulder and Charlie grumbles weakly, curling up tighter and nosing into the pillow. The pillow isn't scratchy and flat, and the bed under him is soft, but his brain is slow on putting that together. It's only when he smells the pillow and realizes it smells like Mac does Charlie register that he's not on the futon next to Frank.

Still. He's comfortable. He huffs more cause the person is still shaking him and pulls the blanket, or tries to get it off him but Charlie grips it tight with his not fucked up hand. He'd be happy to stay this wall, all warm and soft, but his brain finally kicks hearing into the equation and Mac is saying: "Come on, dude. Wake up."

Charlie sighs and forces his eyes open. It hurts to lift the lid on his left eye. He'd bet anything that he has a good shiner going, and it's probably slightly swollen, but he can open it and see out of it, which is better than the last couple times he's been hit in the face (though really, he's not sure he would have had swollen shut again that second time when Mac hit him in the bathroom if it hadn't been just when Charlie's eye was starting to open) and oh Mac is still talking, Charlie can see his mouth moving, but he really wasn't listening.

"Yeah, man. I know," Charlie says, his go to response when he hasn't been paying attention. His voice is rough and scratchy from sleep and his best friend choking him the night before. He coughs, and Mac's face stops talking and goes all frowny instead.

"You weren't listening to me, were you?" Mac asks after a moment, and he looks more amused after a moment then angry, so he's not mad about that. Which means the frowny face was about Charlie coughing. Which, shit, makes sense. For someone who routinely punches and tries to choke his friends, Mac sure does get sad afterwards.

"No?" Charlie answers, and it sounds like a question, even to him.

Mac rubs a hand over his mouth, like he does when he's frustrated. Fair enough. But then he sits down on the bed near Charlie's legs and gives him a look - one that says he's way more worried than frustrated, and Charlie would rather angry-violent-Mac to worried-Mac, because worried-Mac does things like make him talk about how he feels and eat food and shower and take his medicine and shit. "You still disassociating?" Mac asks all quiet, which means Charlie's got worried-and–making-him-talk-about-his-feelings-Mac. Shit.

Charlie feels ridiculous laying down under the covers while Mac is sitting on the bed fully dressed, so Charlie sits up, leaning back against the headboard and scratches at his beard along his jaw as he tries to think about the question. "Nah. Don't think so? Just, you know, waking up?" Again sounding like he's asking a question rather than answering.

Mac doesn't look any less worried, but he nods, once. Willing to take Charlie's word for it and not press. That's a good sign. If he was more worried, he'd press.  "You sleep okay?"

Ah. There. More questions about how he's feeling, damn it. At least it's not a repeat of the same question. Charlie nods. "Yeah. You?" Because Charlie is dumb, but he does know his friends, especially Mac, and he doesn't think Mac was sleeping so well either.

Mac smiles, a shy little smile he does every time someone asks him if he's okay, or if he slept well – questions Charlie thinks no one ever really asks Mac. Which is a damn shame cause he should have someone that asks him things like that every day. He deserves to have someone that loves him enough to ask him those questions every day. "Yeah. I did."

So no nightmares for either of them. Score. Charlie had been kind of afraid of having one last night. He'd been having bad ones since he went home. Dreams that left him waking up unable to move or even scream, muscles so tight that his jaw and fingers ached after he was finally able to unclench his body. He'd sit up in the bed after that, afraid to lay down and fall back asleep, not sure how many times a night he could go through that and stay sane. A few times, his shaking after the nightmare woke Frank up, but at least he didn't scream the man awake. Frank was old. Charlie was afraid his sudden screaming would give the man a heart attack.

A thought occurs to Charlie and he asks: "Why'd ya wake me?" cause Mac usually didn't wake him this early - the light in the room is too wrong, too close to when Mac usually got up to go to the gym. And normally, if Charlie could sleep through him getting up and dressed, Mac left him sleeping.

"Oh," Mac says, and looks to the side and then at Charlie again. Like he's afraid Charlie won't like what he has to say. "We're going to go see Betty. I called. She can see you in, like, forty-five minutes."

Shit. Charlie kind of doesn't want to go, but he knows that after what he pulled yesterday, he's not going to get away with that, can't really argue with Mac either, given that he made the other man go nuts looking for him yesterday. Over-protective-and-bossy-Mac is going to be out in full force today. Charlie probably won't be out of Mac's sight until at least tonight when it's time to head out from Paddy's. Kind of understandable, kind of annoying. He yawns instead of bitching and says: "Yeah. Yeah, okay," so that Mac will relax and stop looking so afraid Charlie's going to fight him.

The smile Mac gives him is worth the dread building in his belly as he slips out of the bed and heads towards the bathroom. Washing his hands after pissing, he looks in the mirror and that's a mistake. He looks pathetic, pale except for the black eye and the finger shaped bruises blooming up dark purple and blue along his neck. He looks like a guy that spent twelve plus hours disassociating in the rain and then getting his ass kicked by his friend.

Charlie frowns at that, and finds Mac in the kitchen. "What do I tell Betty when she asks about my face and neck?" He asks

Mac frowns at him. "The truth?" He answers, but it sounds like a question, like he doesn't understand why Charlie is asking.

"Yeah, but then she'll know your anger management didn't work." Charlie argues.

Mac actually laughs. "Oh, trust me dude. She knows. I punched her wall when you were missing and left your damn coat and phone behind." Mac looks embarrassed, but not overly so.

"Oh," Charlie says, cause he doesn't know what else to say. Then: "Your hand okay?"

That same sad shy smile. Mac ducks his head and flexes the fingers on his punching hand, and shrugs. "Yeah. I'm good. I missed the studs. Your head is harder than the wall."

Charlie laughs at that, glad to see that Mac hadn't really fucked himself up. The cut on his face from Charlie's splint doesn't look too bad either. Betty will probably take one look at them at realize they got into a fight. That's probably okay.

"Your clothes are still soaked from last night. I can find you another pair of sweats," Mac says, changing the subject from himself and his angry outburst, which yeah, Charlie gets.

Charlie nods and follows Mac back into his bedroom. He's been wearing Mac's clothes for years, probably as long as they've known each other. Except Mac hit a growth spurt in tenth grade that Charlie never seemed to get himself, and now Charlie had to roll up the bottoms of Mac's sweatpants like a little kid. If the clothes didn't smell comfortingly like Mac, Charlie would really hate to wear his clothes.

As it is, on a day like today, after a day and night (holy shit he realizes now that he was missing, like, an entire day, no wonder Mac was violently angry) like yesterday, he'll take all the comfort he can get. He's pretty sure he can weasel a hoodie out of Mac too. Mac's hoodies always smell the best.

Like Mac. Like safe and warm.  

+++

Charlie is unusually quiet and still as they head out from Betty's office, down the elevator and into the street. Mac just lets him be. Sometimes, if he's processing something, Charlie can be quiet like this. It's still pretty concerning, and very much not Charlie like. It's okay, though, because Mac is pretty much processing what Betty said to him too.

She had called Mac in after Charlie was done. Said she couldn't talk about what Charlie and her spoke about – she said that a lot, and that she wouldn't tell Charlie what she and Mac spoke about – but that she thought it was better if Charlie stayed with him for a while still. At least the rest of the week. If Mac was okay with it. Which, of course Mac was okay with it. She smiled at him weirdly then, and told him she'd see him next week.

The whole thing made Mac feel kind of strange, like he did in math class in high school when it was obvious he was missing something and everyone else in the room knew what Mac was missing, but he couldn't figure it out himself and no one ever gave him any hints. So he just cut math class. He can't do that now, can't just cut hanging out with Charlie, especially after the dude had a major freak out and disappeared for like a whole day yesterday.

Mac gets behind the wheel of the Range Rover, frowning at the dried mud on the floorboards that Dennis is going to shout over at some point, but he doesn't think Charlie's up for the task of cleaning it today and anyway it's raining still. Charlie's quiet as he buckles himself in, hood up still so Mac can't see his face. Which: goddamn it.

"You okay, buddy?" He asks after a minute of silence, just the rain beating down on the roof of the SUV.

Charlie flinches, like he forgot Mac was in the car with him – fuck is he disassociating? He's not supposed to after a session. Mac's having trouble remembering why not.

"Huh?" Charlie asks, blinking, then smiles a weird, not really all there smile and nods. "Yeah. I'm good," and he almost sounds believable. Except his voice is still all croaky from Mac choking him and sitting in the rain for like twelve hours (Mac thinks, he's not sure where Charlie was the whole time) like a dumbass.

It's probably more the choking him out than anything _. Shit_.

Mac rubs a hand over his mouth and starts the car, but he doesn't move to pull away from the curb yet. "I told Den we'd swing by and pick him up before Paddy's. But we've got, like, an hour. What do you wanna do?"  The park is out. Charlie would probably see no problem with sitting in the rain again, but Mac doesn't want him to get sick.

"Ah…" Charlie says, drawing it out as he fidgets, turning to look fully at Mac. His eyes are red – did Betty make him cry? – but he's not too upset looking, just kind of…nervous? Yeah. Nervous looking. He's scratching at his beard like he does when he's nervous, eyes shifting everywhere but at Mac. "Could we go to my place? I don't wanna go all day in your clothes…they'll get dirty. You know. Charlie Work. I'm really behind."

Mac's not sure Charlie should be near Frank. But Betty didn't say Frank was the problem, so he nods and starts the car. She would have told him to keep Frank away from Charlie, right? Fuck he hopes so. All he wants is for everything to be normal again (okay, as close to normal as the gang ever is). And he's still so damn afraid that Charlie is going to hurt himself again, worse, like he did that bad night that Mac hit him and Charlie washed all those pills down with rotgut vodka and cut himself up, and _oh god_ he can still taste the fear that coursed through him yesterday as he searched for his missing friend, can feel it wanting to creep up on him again, making him grip the steering wheel in his hands even tighter.

Mac's so focused on just forcing the fear back down, stuffing it deep down because it's over, Charlie is safe and next to him, that he almost misses Charlie asking: "Can I grab some stuff and come stay with you for a bit more?" He says it so fast and quiet. Like he does when he doesn't really want to hear the answer to his question. "Betty doesn't think I'm, uh, ready to be around Frank like that. Like roommates again."

Makes sense. That's what Mac thought too. Frank is a terrible fucking influence on Charlie. He smiles and pulls out from the curb, nodding. "Yeah, buddy. Of course. As long as you need to."

He can see Charlie nod out the corner of his eye. "Cool. Do you think Dennis will mind?"

Mac waves a hand dismissively and almost drives the Rover into a parked car. Whoops. "Nah. Don't worry about him." Dennis might mind, probably will, but he's been kind of very chill about this whole Charlie crashing with them situation. When Mac is feeling charitable, he thinks it's cause Dennis understands that it's what Charlie needs. When he's feeling less kind, Mac thinks it might be because Dennis is just glad to have a third person in the apartment taking up Mac's attention. Betty had laughed when Mac said that, and replied that it was probably a combination of both things.

"Cool," Charlie says again, and Mac can just see him smiling out the corner of his admittedly shitty peripheral vision.

Cool indeed. Mac knows he'll feel better having eyes on Charlie at night, during those dangerous hours when he knows Charlie's brain is awful to him.

It never occurs to him to suggest Frank leave Charlie's apartment.

+++

Mac fucks up on a Saturday night, two weeks after Charlie moves back in.

What he does is go on a date. He meets up with some dude that has been messaging him a lot of the past two weeks on Ginder. Dennis all but forces him to go on the date (probably doesn't want any more romantic attention from Mac, and honestly, Mac's 90% over Den – or at least, like 50%, which is pretty good for a crush that he's had longer than he cares to admit). Mac even checks with Charlie first. He's half engrossed in wrestling on the tv and nods at Mac, telling him to go, but his voice is kind of weird and the smile he gives Mac when Mac heads out from Paddy's is kind of tight and not right, but Mac's nervous for his date and doesn't think anything of it.

They hit it off. The guy's name is John and he works out too and his favorite movie Thundergun Express, so their taste in movies is pretty similar. He laughs at Mac's cheesy jokes and doesn't sneer at Mac's less than stellar language like some other guys have, like he doesn't care if Mac's dumb as shit. He smells good too. Kisses even better. John asks Mac where he lives and kind of does that whole 'take me home' kind of look. Mac's never brought anyone home since Dennis came back. Hadn't wanted to, just got by on hookups in club bathrooms and then he got shot and that kind of put a damper on things. It's been a long time since he's had sex in a bed.

Mac excuses himself to the bathroom and texts Charlie a sleeping guy face and a question mark. He gets back a 'no.?' Pretty quickly, by the time he's done pissing. Cool. He finds a picture of a couch, sends that and the sleepy guy and another question mark. His phone buzzes in his hand just gets to the table again. Glancing down, he seems a thumbs up from Charlie and he smiles. Hopefully Charlie got the message Mac is trying to send him: 'can you sleep on the couch, bro?'

Mac's defense, what he'll later tell Betty, is a) John's smile, b) it's been a while, almost like, six months since Mac even hooked up with someone (and that was just a hand down his pants in the ally outside a gay bar), and c) Charlie did say it was okay!

John pays for the Uber, which is pretty kind, and they split their bar tab (Mac knows he's not a cheap date in that regard, he can _drink_ ). And it's all kind of perfect, even when they walk in and Charlie and Dennis are right there on the couch, passing a bottle of dark liquor, whiskey probably, between them and laughing at the TV. They both stop when Mac and John come in. Mac realizes that he should have warned John about them, but just ignores Dennis's whistle and Charlie's silence and pulls John by the wrist to the bedroom.

Mac realizes at the last minute how slept in both sides of the bed looks and lunges forward to pull the covers up – dumb – and put both pillows on top of each other. There's still shit on both nightstands, but he can't do anything about that.

John never notices. Mac puts on music, loud, so he can't hear Dennis and Charlie in the living room, hoping that means they can't hear him and John in the bedroom, and just puts them out of his mind. John's a trooper for not caring. He certainly doesn't try and keep quiet. Once, between songs, Mac is almost certain he can hear someone puking, but them John does something wicked with his tongue and the next song kicks up in volume and Mac forgets about it.

When the screaming starts, Mac and John are asleep, tangled up with Mac's head on John's chest. They both flinch awake at roughly the same time. Mac has a weird moment of trying to figure out why he's being woken up if the person in bed with him is quiet and then he remembers it's John and not Charlie in his bed.

He nearly stumbles out of the bedroom naked, but catches himself. The screaming, Charlie's screaming, is still going on and he hardly gives himself enough time to step into what he hopes are his boxers before he throws open the bedroom door. It never occurs to Mac to explain what's happening to John - not when Charlie is screaming like that.

Thankfully Charlie is still on the couch, not hiding somewhere still screaming like he's done sometimes. He's thrashing around, tangled up in two blankets. Mac snaps on the light as he goes over, heart clenching uncomfortably in his chest. He hates the sound of Charlie screaming like this.

Waking a thrashing Charlie is never easy. Mac gets a hand on his shoulder and shakes him, calling Charlie's name. Experience has taught him when to duck (how has Frank gone ten years without ever getting punched waking Charlie, Mac will never know) because Charlie comes out of the dream swinging and shouting 'fuck!' And almost takes Mac's head off.

"Just a dream, man. You're okay," Mac says quietly as Charlie stares up at him with big eyes, breathing heavy. Charlie's hair is stuck to his forehead, shirt sticking to him too from the sweat and Mac can smell—

"Did you piss yourself?" John asks, Mac hadn't heard him come up behind him. Forgot he was even in the apartment. John laughs. Charlie cringes and tries to curl in on himself more than he already was. "What a lose—"

John doesn't finish. Mac spins on his feet and punches him before he even has a chance to think about what he's doing. John stumbles, almost trips over the blanket he's got wrapped around his waist, and puts a shocked hand to his face. Like he didn't think Mac would hit him for that. What a tool.

"Get the fuck out!" Mac screams it, louder than he means to. But seriously: he laughed at Charlie!

"With pleasure," John sneers. Mac wants to punch the look off his face. Except he's really trying to be good with his anger, and he's over his initial flush of white hot rage. "But you're wearing my underwear."

Mac doesn't think again. Just reaches down and drops the boxers, kicking them at John. Dude already saw him naked, so fuck it. It'll get him out of the apartment quicker and Mac can help Charlie calm down without him around laughing and being a twat.  Behind him, Charlie makes a weird kind of sound, like when Mac wrapped his hands around his neck that night in the rain. Mac turns to look at him, worried. Charlie's eyes are wide, his cheeks redder than they were a minute ago. His eyes are so not on Mac's face. They're much lower. Huh that's—

That's when John decides he owns Mac a punch and sucker punches him in the side of the face. Mac falls and crashes on top of the coffee table, breaking it. Things get a little hard to follow after that. Charlie screeches wordlessly and launches himself off the couch and at John. But Charlie's tangled in blankets still and stumbles, managing to pull John to the floor and then they're all on top of each other, practically, fists and elbows and knees and scratching nails and for all the times Mac's dreamt of naked wrestling with a guy (or guys) it's really not that much fun when there's some true anger to it.

And then a new voice added to the mix. Dennis, shouting: "WHAT THE FUCK!" On the top of his very pissed off lungs.

Mac looks up from where he's got his arms wrapped around both of John's legs. John's blanket is gone now too, Mac's face is pretty close to John's dick, and Charlie's half on top of John too, was punching at him with his left hand cause the splints on his right won't let him make a fist. Charlie stops hitting, and John the fucking coward who doesn't know how scary an angry Dennis is, sucker punches Charlie, catches him in the jaw and Charlie falls to the side.

That makes Mac scream and let go of John's legs to punch him low in the gut, just above the dick. Mac might have been aiming for his prick, but there's blood in his eye making it hard to see. John curses, hands on his belly, trying to curl up as he coughs and gags at the punch. On the other side of him, Charlie's shifting to kneel, so at least he's not knocked out. That's good. Mac does the same, breathing hard and swiping at the blood over his eye with the back of his hand.

"It's four o'clock in the goddamned morning. What the fresh fuck is going on?" Dennis asks, in that really scary, 'I am fucking furious' voice.

"John's leaving," Mac says, because it's the shortest and only answer he wants to give right now. He doesn't want to explain to Dennis that he punched his hook up because he laughed at Charlie for pissing himself during a nightmare while the douchebag is still in the room.

Dennis raises an eyebrow at Mac, clearly aware of something more happening, but he just nods. "All right, Jim, get your shit and go. You can get dressed in the hallway." Dennis sounds deadly calm and like he's giving John a gift by making him leave the apartment naked.

John glares at the two of them, but manages to stand up and Mac gets up too, following John to stand in the doorway and make sure he doesn't take anything that's not his (Mac would). John even listens and goes into the hallway of the apartment building with his clothes (minus the boxers he's left on the floor in the living room) bunched up in front of his dick. Mac takes one regretful look at the man's rather fine ass – shame it's attached to such a douchebag – and closes and locks the door behind him.

Dennis and Charlie are both still where they were, when he turns back around. Dennis's eyebrows are both raised so high that Mac wants to be cruel and warn him he'll get wrinkles that way, but he just did get woken up by a combination of Charlie's screams and their fight so Mac holds back. Charlie's kneeling there with his head down and gulping great big breaths in, facing away and Mac can't see his face.

Dennis looks very pointedly between Mac and Charlie, wordlessly asking 'what the fuck?' with his face, and it's only because Mac's known Dennis forever that he gets that underneath the obvious and honestly kind of justified annoyance, the other man is concerned. Mac swipes at his eye again, but the blood is already slowing which is good, and shrugs.

Dennis runs a hand through his sleep ruffled hair and sighs. "I'll get the ice packs," like he figures he's up he might as well help. "You wanna put some clothes on, Mac? Or are you a nudist now?"

Mac turns red, looking down as if he needs to see it to remember that yeah, he's just standing there in front of them in his birthday suit. It startles a laugh out of Charlie, who twists to look over at Mac, eyebrows up. His left eye is puffy and red, and his nose is sluggishly bleeding along with his lip, but Charlie doesn't look too bad. That's good.

"Yeah…uh…yeah," Mac says, oh so eloquently, and practically runs into his room to get some clothes. He finds and pulls on a pair of his pajama pants.

When he comes back out of the bedroom, Charlie's gone. Mac looks at Dennis, must look a little wild and worried, cause Dennis holds his hands up, one of them holding the bag of Charlie's face peas.

"Bathroom. He needs a quick shower."

Right. "Fuckin' prick laughed at him for pissing himself." Mac mumbles angrily, and slumps into a chair at the kitchen table.

Dennis hands him a bunch of paper towels and motions to his head. Mac presses them against the cut above his eyebrow. He hopes it doesn't need stitches. He can't afford that and he's seen enough of hospitals to last him the rest of his life.

"So you got into a three-way, mostly naked fight with him and Charlie?" Dennis asks, he sounds kinda amused.

He dug out the first aid kit from under the kitchen sink too, and he starts pouring peroxide onto a fist full of cotton balls. "No. I punched him for that. And told him to get out. He bitched that I was wearing his boxers –" Dennis snickers at this, which fuck him – "so I just yanked 'em off and threw them at him and then when I turned around to check on Charlie he sucker punched me!"

Dennis nods. "So Charlie attacked him and you jumped in too."

"Yup," Mac answers, nodding. His head is starting to kill him, the combination of the liquor he had drank earlier wearing off and being punched in the head.

Dennis leans forward and presses the wad of peroxide soaked cotton balls to a scratch on Mac's chest. Mac flinches back, not having expected it. Which he kind of regrets, immediately. It's not often that Dennis is in caretaker mode. More often since the whole shooting mess, but not very often, and he doesn't want to ruin it by annoying him. Dennis tuts at him and Mac moves back into his range, and Dennis dabs at the scratch a little more gently.

"Let me see your head," Dennis asks, all quiet, and Mac leans forward enough so that Dennis can press the bloody cotton balls to the cut over his eye. Mac winces and tries to pull back, but Den grabs the back of his head. _Shit_. Ten months ago, Mac would have given his right nut for Dennis to be touching him this much. Now…not so much. It's nice, but it's not giving him the thrill it once would have.

"Look like it needs stitches?" He asks, cause he hasn't been able to look in a mirror yet, and he really, really doesn't want to get stitches.

Dennis shakes his head as he wipes at the blood under the cut, down his temple. "I don't think so. Head wounds just bleed a lot."

That's something they've all said at one time or another. Dennis said it a lot the night he accidentally shot Charlie in the head and Charlie and Mac were kind of freaking out about all the blood in the back seat. Charlie cause it was his head and all, Mac because he was sure that Charlie was going to bleed to death. Funny how Dennis shooting Charlie in the head was no longer the worst gun related incident at Paddy's. Expect it's not _funny_ funny. It's the sad funny that makes you wish things could go backwards in time could undo things. But you can't.

Dennis gestures for him to turn around, his hand waving around pulling Mac out of his sad thoughts.  "He scratched your back too."

"Uh...that might not have been --uh --" Dennis is looking at him blankly, so Mac forces himself to keep talking. "Uh, you know -- not from the fight?" Mac stammers out awkwardly and he's sure his face is as red as the blood slowly trickling out of it.

"I know, dipshit. You should still clean it out. Jesus, do you not clean it out when someone scratches you up? How the fuck have you not died of an infection by now?"

Mac wants to ask why the fuck Dennis made him say it then, but forces himself to remember that it's four in the goddamned morning and the other man is helping him clean up after a three-way, mostly naked fight that Mac started in their living room. He can afford to be teased a little. So he huffs and turns on the chair so Dennis can reach his back. It stings like a bitch, but he only flinches once.

"Good. Done. Now go put a fucking shirt on before Charlie sees that."

Mac turns back around to look at Dennis, wincing when he raises his eyebrows - it pulls on the cut. "What the fuck does that mean?" He is genuinely confused here, doesn't know what Den means by that _at all_.

Dennis gives him a look. The kind of look he's been getting for more than twenty fucking years, when Mac doesn't get something Dennis thinks is obvious. In Mac's defense, it's not always all that obvious. Then he shakes his head, looking old and tired as he tosses the cotton balls on the table - apparently Dennis's charity towards helping Mac after the fight doesn't extend to clean up. Fair enough. "You know what, dude?" Dennis asks, shaking his head again. "You're never going to get it. Go put a fuckin' shirt on."

Mac knows when he's being dismissed by Dennis, when the topic is closed. He just gets up and goes into the bedroom like told.

+++

By the time Tuesday rolls around, Charlie is sleepy and grumpy and he doesn't want to wake up to go to Betty's. He's sure she'll have comments to make about the bruises and cuts on him and Mac. And he's worried she's going to pick up on the fact that Charlie hasn't slept well since the night of the fight, or the things that Charlie's been thinking about Mac. The things he doesn't think he should be thinking about his oldest friend in the world. It doesn't seem right, the dreams his brain is coming up with when it's not so busy coming up with nightmares that are just memories changed around a bit. Seems like it should be wrong, having dreams about your best friend like the ones he's having lately. So Charlie curls up back into the pillows, trying to pull the blanket over his head.

"No way," Mac is saying, shaking Charlie shoulder kind of hard. He's mad. "No fuckin' way are you missing going to her, Charlie. She said it's important we go every week."

Betty had said that in the beginning, when she was convincing Charlie to come back. He hadn't seen why he'd have to come very single week, because it was just after the first time and he was exhausted and it felt like there were spiders crawling up and down the inside of his guts after all the talking and explaining he did. He didn't want to go through that once a week...But she said it was important he came back, that he'd only get better by working on things and talking about it with her. Told him that Mac was going to come too and they both had the potential to get better and improve their 'mental wellbeing', but they'd have to do the work. And aside from the one day he freaked out and walked out of the waiting room, they have gone every week. So why can't he get a week off?

Charlie doesn't even get a chance to ask that, because Mac is pulling the comforter off of him – rude – and pulling on his arm so he's sitting up. Charlie goes with it. He's not a big fan of being manhandled, especially not on a bed, but it's Mac. And maybe Charlie kind of likes how strong Mac is? Not that he'd ever say as much to the other man. It'd be weird. Charlie doesn't want to make things weird.

"Please, man?" Mac asks, and that's all it takes. Charlie melts like cheese and nods.

The smile Mac gives him is kind of worth it.

At least, it is until they get to the office. Betty opens the door to let Mac in for his session, looks at the two of them, sees the black eye and split lip Charlie's sporting, Mac's own black eye and that cut that Charlie's pretty sure should have got stitches, and she sighs. "Both of you come in."

Charlie gets up and his legs are numb with worry. He's afraid that she'll somehow figure out what he's been thinking about Mac and ask a question about it with Mac right next to him. He really, _really_ can't deal with that right now. Mac gives him a weird look when Charlie drops down heavily onto the couch, almost as far from Mac as he can get on the small couch.

"Tell me what happened," Betty says, and Charlie's not sure who she's talking to.

Maybe Mac doesn't know either, cause he doesn't say anything, so Charlie talks, saying: "Mac hooked up with a real asshole."

Betty's eyebrow shoots up like it does when Charlie says something she thinks is weird or an obvious lie. Like when he tells her he had no nightmares all week – even sleeping next to Mac he has trouble still more often than even Mac knows. "So you two fought?"

Oh! Charlie shakes his head quickly, same time Mac does. "No, no! We fought the guy."

"Yeah," Mac says. "Charlie was on the couch and he had a nightmare and I went to wake him up and the dude laughed at Charlie for pissin' himself," Charlie flinches at that, didn't think Betty needed to know his nightmare was that bad. "But like, that was mostly because Charlie got shitfaced --the pissin' was -- and anyway it wasn't cool of him to laugh at Charlie when Charlie was upset. So I punched him."

"You punched the guy?" Betty asks, and is she mad Mac's anger management isn't working? Betty doesn't really get mad, not even the week Charlie had huffed all the paint and ran away before his session, but she doesn't sound nice and encouraging like she normally does either.

"Just once!" Mac argues, and he sounds defensive as shit. "I wasn't gonna hit him again, but then he sucker punched me and then Charlie tackled him and we all fought together."

Charlie nods. "Yeah. It wasn't Mac's fault! He really tried not to punch the dude again. The douche totally sucker punched him!"

Betty seems to take this all in for a moment then asks: "Why were you so drunk, Charlie?" She doesn't say shitfaced. Charlie kinda was hoping she would.

Shit. Charlie scratches at his jaw, frowning at the question. Mac is looking at him like he never considered that question. Thanks Betty. "Uh, I dunno? It was Saturday?"

"I thought you weren't getting that drunk anymore? Either of you." Oh, he hates this shit from her. When she asks a question she knows the answer to because it means she's going to ask another question in a minute that will fuck him the fuck up. The second time he saw her, she asked him 'Why do you drink and do so many drugs?' Charlie had answered that it quieted the spiders in his head a bit, the bad thoughts that he didn't like or want to have, and she asked 'Does it, or does drowning those thoughts out with booze and drugs just make it worse in the long run? Don't the thoughts always come back anyway? Sometimes on a bad day, or in your nightmares?' He hadn't even told her about his nightmares all that much by then, that he'd always had them, even before the shooting, before he remembered things about Uncle Jack that he always told himself weren't real because they were only ever nightmares and not memories. But she knew. She knew he had nightmares and bad days when the spiders swarmed and he couldn't not think about the bad things. He _hates_ when she does that.

Charlie looks down at his lap. Neither of them answer. He can see out the corner of his eye that Mac's still looking at him. "I mean, we're not?" It comes out a question and he hates himself a bit for it. "Not really. We're not getting, like, black out drunk, like _at all_ anymore... And I wasn't black out drunk. Maybe brown out drunk."

"That's when you only remember parts of the night," Mac says, helpfully. He's still proud of that saying, proud he came up with it. Charlie gives him a little smile, half proud too - it's a good term! - and half 'thanks for the backup bro.'

"But you were drunk enough that you --"

Charlie holds up his hands. He doesn't want to hear Betty say 'pissed himself' or any other version of the phrase. Too weird. "Maybe? I mean, I think I wouldn't've if I was sober, but maybe I would've?  It was kinda a bad nightmare."

"I see," Betty says. "Why do you think you had such a bad nightmare?"

Charlie flicks his eyes to Mac, then at her and says: "I think I'm taking up Mac's time."

Betty gives him a look that tells him she knows that he's stalling and that they will be talking about this, but then she smiles and nods. "You're right Charlie. I wrongly assumed you two got into another fist fight with each other and that we would need to talk things out all three of us together. But since I was incorrect, you can go for now."

Charlie doesn't run from the room, but it's a near thing.

+++

For a long moment, they both sit silent in the Rover. Mac is sure they're both thinking about the same thing, what Betty said as Charlie came out of the inner room with her: 'Next week, I'd like to start out talking with the both of you again. If you're both alright with that.' Charlie had looked a little freaked out before then, but when she said that, he had snapped his head to look over at her, his eyes were stupid wide. Surprised. Mac thought he looked scared, too. But he'd agreed, and so did Mac. And then Charlie didn't say a word the whole way down to the car.

So that is what Mac is thinking about. He's pretty sure Charlie is thinking about whatever's got him freaking out about the idea. Mac thought they were beyond having secrets from each other, but the look on Charlie's face clearly said he was scared of talking about _something_ with Mac and Betty. Mac had a feeling it was him Charlie was afraid of talking to.

Or, maybe, Mac thinks a moment later, as Charlie digs in his jeans pocket to pull out one of his little anxiety pills in the foil, maybe it was something else? Charlie's hands are a bit shaky as he sticks the pill under his tongue. Maybe they talked about his nightmare and that had Charlie all worked up? Dude has been having some pretty wicked nightmares, and Mac's almost positive he only wakes up sometimes when Charlie has a bad dream. How many bad dreams does Charlie have and suffer through the aftermath alone? Mac doesn't want to know. Except he does. Because he doesn't want Charlie to have them anymore, but if he still has bad dreams, Mac wants Charlie to wake him up, damn it.

"You okay, dude?" Mac asks, since he figures that's a good place to start, and Charlie is clearly not going to start this convo or he would've already. Sometimes Mac has to pull things out of Charlie. He doesn't really mind pressing for details, but he hates the guessing game part of it all. He and Betty could have spoken about a hundred things that could've upset Charlie this much. Maybe she told Charlie he should tell his mom about Jack again? That conversation always spiraled Charlie. Mac thought Ms. Kelly should know what a horrible piece of shit her brother is, so she'd keep him away from Charlie, but Charlie just keeps saying that Jack is her only family.

Charlie looks at him, then looks away almost as quickly. So obviously not okay. But he shrugs and doesn't say anything. Mac tells himself it's because of the pill dissolving in his mouth, but he knows it's not. But a shrug is not a full out lie – he's not saying he's okay when he's clearly not – and that's a start. It's easier when Charlie's not exactly lying and pretending things aren't fucked up for him.

"Rough session?"  He edges, knowing better by now than to flat out ask Charlie to tell him what's got him so upset. Mac won't get an answer and if he's not gentle enough, Charlie might clam up totally.

Charlie hums a yes, nodding his head, but then he shrugs again. Mac finds himself smiling fondly. That was a 'kinda' in silent Charlie speak. But he is getting responses, and it doesn't seem like Charlie is slipping away into his own head, just quietly freaking out, or thinking super hard about something.  Mac is getting better at telling the difference between the two – the disassociating Charlie and the trying to figure out how he really feels about something Charlie. Disassociating Charlie has a more spaced out, not all there look and he's usually very still. Thinking hard Charlie looks all stressed out and twitchy. Right now, Charlie's tapping his right foot on the floor of the Rover and picking at a loose thread coming off the cuff of his green army jacket.

"Okay," Mac says, after a moment of waiting to see if Charlie will talk, but getting silence. "I'll listen if you want to talk. Always, bro."

That pulls a real smile out of Charlie, the kind that crinkles up the corners of his eyes. Those are Mac's favorite kind of smiles from Charlie.  "Thanks, man," he says, and Mac finds himself smiling back.

Not sure what else to do, Mac pulls the car away from the curb and towards the park. It's been getting cold out, but he figures they can do the park thing a few more times before they have to figure out something else. Mac had reminded Charlie to bring a coat today for that very reason. Except it's Charlie and Mac doesn't think the man owns a winter coat, so he just wore a hoodie under that stupid thin green jacket that can't do anything for warmth, but Charlie loves his army jacket, so Mac didn't press him.

Twenty minutes later, when they're sitting on their usual bench, Mac is having some serious second thoughts about coming here. His nose is already starting to numb from the cold. Looking over at the smaller man, Mac is not really surprised to find Charlie is shivering.

"Shit, dude," Mac says, and lifts up his arm and puts it across Charlie's shoulders, pulling Charlie closer to him, so they can share some body heat.

Charlie goes stiff next to him. Which is kind fair - Mac knows he's not supposed to touch first when Charlie's like this, but in his defense: the shivering. He can't just sit here watching Charlie shiver and not try and help, offer a little warmth.

"You okay?" Mac asks, making a major effort to talk softly, and not sound too anxious. Charlie can be skittish when he's like this. Mac has to be careful not to spiral him up just by being worried. If Mac worries, Charlie worries more, and they get stuck in a little loop.

Charlie shrugs, then he melts a little, all the tenseness leaving him at once. Hell, the shorter man even snuggles into Mac's shoulder a bit. Good. That's a good sign – Charlie taking comfort when he needs it is still something Charlie has to work on. Mac's not much better, he knows cause Betty told him exactly that. That he and Charlie needed to be more open with each other and the rest of the gang (as if Mac would let himself be this weak around the rest of the gang) when they wanted or needed comfort. Neither of them are good at saying it out loud that they need a hug or something, but Charlie will do things like take Mac's hand, and Mac will do things like hug Charlie when he needs to hold onto someone who actually gives a shit about him. Sometimes, the only time Mac feels loved and wanted are in those moments when he hugs Charlie's smaller body to his chest and Charlie holds him back just as tightly.

For a long time, they just sit there, side by side, silently watching the pond in front of them. Mac knows better than to rush Charlie. He wants to know what the shorter man is worried about. He _needs_ to know if he can help fix it or not. Chances are, he can help. But Charlie has to tell him what his problem is first.

Mac must be getting tense thinking about that, about his frustrations at Charlie not talking to him and telling him what's wrong when something is so obviously fucking wrong, because Charlie pulls away and gives him an odd, 'dude, what?' kinda look. Mac just returns it evenly, without commenting. 'I'll tell you if you tell me' the look says. From the kinda amused, kinda frustrated look on Charlie's face, Charlie got the message loud and clear. Mac and Charlie could always have these kinds of conversations without words, but they've only gotten better at it in the last few months. Living, working, and going to therapy together really did bring them even closer together.

Charlie pushes himself up off the bench and goes to stand closer to the water, picking up rocks and just chucking them in there. It's not like he's trying to skip them or anything, he's just throwing the rocks as far as he can, given that he's throwing with his fucked up right hand, they're not going very far. Facing the water and using a voice that's far too forced to be actually casual, Charlie asks Mac: "You over Dennis or something, dude? You haven't whined –I mean, uh, talked about — him like that, or gotten handsy with him in like, forever."

Wow. That question was out of left field. Instead of asking Charlie why he's asking this, Mac actually thinks back to the last few weeks, then all the way back to the shooting, and even before that. Huh. Maybe it's been longer than that? Mac's not sure the last time Dennis had to tell him to stop touching him or something.  Charlie turns to look at him as he squats down to pick up another rock, one eyebrow raised in a question, but not saying anything. Mac had been pretty excited when Dennis had come back from North Dakota...and then. Shit. The seminar. That's when he stopped trying to touch Dennis.

"I, uh, guess I am. Mostly." Mac answers and he sounds surprised, even to his own ears. "Over him, I mean. He's never gonna go my way, you know? He made that pretty fuckin' clear at the sexual harassment seminar, Charlie." That was a hard thing for Mac to accept, that Dennis would never feel for him the way he had felt for Dennis. When Den left them for his kid it proved to them all, Mac especially, where he stood with Dennis. But the whole sexual harassment seminar thing kind of sealed it. Dennis hadn't been just explicitly clear in his dismissal of Mac's affections, he had been flat out hurtful, calling Mac ugly and saying no matter how much he worked out he wouldn't be able to change his ugliness. The thing of it is, Mac doesn't work out to be more attractive, he really doesn't. 

It started out as something to do with all the free time he had when Dennis was gone, something to focus his attention on that wasn't how hard it was being alone in their apartment. Then guys at the gym started to comment on how Mac was starting to get swole and said he was looking scary and intimidating. Mac realized that, for the first time ever, the guy he saw in the mirror looked a lot like the badasses in the movies he watched. The harder he worked out, the more intimidating he looked. The more intimidating he looked the more better he could protect the bar and his friends.

Not that all that working out did him a lot of good the night the bastard came looking for Frank and found him and Charlie instead. But he still hoped that if a guy was going to start shit, and saw him standing there looking all jacked, the guy would think twice. The bastard saw Charlie first...At least, this is what Mac keeps telling himself when his anxieties start to spiral out of control, worrying about what would happen if someone else tried to attack them in the bar.

Charlie is biting his bottom lip as he digs his fingers into the mud around a large stone. It didn't seem to want to come loose, and he grumbles at the rock, pulling Mac from his thoughts.  "He was a fucking dick to you that day," Charlie mutters, actually focusing on the rock like he wasn't just throwing rocks to have something to do with himself while prying into Mac's personal life.

"Yeah. But he was right—" Mac starts, but Charlie suddenly looks up with a shocked face, like he can't believe Mac agrees, and shoots to his feet, pointing at him with a splinted finger.

"No! No, Mac!" Charlie's voice is loud and pitched high, two spots of color rising in his cheeks, his ears – he is really angry. "Fuck Dennis, bro. You're not fuckin' ugly!" Charlie keeps shouting, throwing both his arms wide and flapping them in frustration – shit, Charlie's really ticked off. Like a six on a one to ten scale of anger right now. Biting tends to start at eight, lethal biting at ten. "What he said about you was fucked up. He's an idiot! A blind idiot!"

"Charlie," Mac says softly, kind of touched by how defensive of him the other man is acting, but not wanting to ramp up Charlie's anger by arguing with him.

Charlie is blinking hard, too hard to be normal and _holy shit_ Charlie is blinking tears out of his eyes. Mac's horror/shock must show on his face because Charlie turns his back to him, facing the pond. Mac doesn't know what to do or say, so he just watches Charlie. Charlie's taking great big gulps of air, trying to calm down, his fists pressed against his eyes.

"He called you ugly." Charlie says, quieter, more broken. It makes something in his chest tighten up to hear Charlie talk like that, so upset over what someone else said about him, like Mac's hurt feelings are that big of deal. "And said that shit about you workin' out to hide that and – dude! - that's not why, right? You work out cause you wanna be able to protect us?" Charlie asks it like a question, but Mac is pretty sure Charlie knows he's right. Mac has to remind himself, often, when Charlie's not stoned or drunk off his face, he's actually smart in his own ways – one of which is reading people. Mac's never said why he was still working out, but of course Charlie, someone he's tried to protect since they were snot nosed kids, of course Charlie would understand it better than anyone else in the gang.

Mac can't listen to the other man try and control his breathing alone anymore. Can't look at that him all hunched in on himself. Mac gets up and walks up behind Charlie, slowly, so he doesn't spook the other man. "Yeah," he says, when he remembers that Charlie did technically ask a question. Even if it was a question he knew the answer to, it was still a question and Charlie might get hung up on waiting for an answer.

Charlie doesn't turn around. Mac is right behind him now, close enough that he can see Charlie's shaking. And it's so strange, that this, _this_ is what sets Charlie off? Talking about Dennis calling Mac ugly and telling Mac he had to stop trying to kiss him?

Mac is opening his mouth to ask that, ask why now, after all this time, that seminar was like, _forever_ ago? It hadn't been much longer after then that they tried to get him on the float and Dennis refused to drive it and then Den was off to North Dakota for Dennis/Brian Junior's birthday and the shooting...yeah. Maybe Charlie was holding this all in for a while. Or maybe it was something that was said in therapy? It doesn't really matter, because no matter the cause, it's happening now whether either man was ready for it. Mac is going to say something to that affect, be like 'dude, where the fuck is this coming from?' even starting the word 'dude' but suddenly Charlie is turning around and grabbing Mac around the middle, hugging him tight.

"Sorry," Charlie says, his face pressed up tight against Mac's chest, muffling his voice, but it's clear enough what he's saying.

Mac doesn't mind. He hugs Charlie back just as fiercely, rubbing a hand up and down Charlie's back. Charlie breathes shuddering breaths and Mac really does wonder what the other man is thinking about? He almost asks, but he's afraid to break up the quiet that settles on them. Finally, it's Charlie who pulls away, rubbing the heels of his hands under his eyes like that will hide that he was crying. He's blushing now, rather than that hot anger on his cheeks – this is more pink, more evenly spread out.

"Sorry," Charlie says again, ducking his head.

Mac smiles at him even though he's mostly sure Charlie can't see him. "It's all good," he promises, and finds that it is.

"Time to go to work?" Charlie asks. He doesn't seem too worried about going, not too eager either.

Other than a lot of ribbing from Dee and Dennis about his hook up and the subsequent three way mostly naked fight yesterday at Paddy's, the place has been pretty calm. It'll be good to go to work had have something to focus on other than their brains and the past.

That, as it turns out, is very wrong.

+++

He's carrying up six liquor bottles from the basement when something happens. One moment everything's fine, he comes out of the keg room and everything is good except his grip is starting to slip a little bit on one bottle tucked in his armpit, and the next he's on his knees in a puddle of booze and broken glass.

Everyone, _everyone_ , is screaming and Dee is squatting down in front of him, Charlie wants to tell her to be careful of the broken glass, but his mouth isn't listening to him, which is not his biggest problem. His biggest problem is he can't breathe at all, can't seem to get a breath in or out and he's looking at the spot where Mac fell That Night, where he almost died (and then later did die for a moment at the hospital!) where the blood was so badly soaked into the wood that they had to get a specialist to come clean it and _he can't fucking breathe_ and he can't figure out what's happened or why Dennis is screaming so loud. Dennis is saying words, Dee is too, Charlie thinks, but he's not sure what words they are? Where's Mac? Oh god, where's Mac?

Charlie's teeth are chattering… he didn't tell them they could do that? But they won't stop and _oh_ it's because all of him is shaking and he can't _breathe_ and, and, and he's _dying_ he's sure of it, but he doesn't even know what's going on, and Dee's hands are on his face and he whines and leans back. She's saying something but Charlie can't understand what she's saying because the fear spider has curled it's eight legs over his heart and is squeezing, squeezing and where is Mac?

"It's okay," he realizes, over the ringing in his ears and the fluttering of the spider's legs on his heart, that's what she's saying. Over and over. She's not yelling. But Dennis is. Screaming words like 'idiot' and 'bastard' and 'why?' And Charlie doesn't care about the liquor or the glass, he shifts so he's sitting on his ass and not his knees and pulls his knees up to his chest and gasps for breath, hunched forward. He wants Mac.

Mac is suddenly there, standing in the booze and glass and holding out a box of ant poison. Mac is gasping for breath, sweating and looks pale as shit. Did he eat the poison? The sight of Mac breathing so hard make Charlie's chest go even tighter, worse than ever.  Damn spider. Charlie looks back the spot on the floor. He hears himself make a choked off sound, almost a whine but his throat is too tight to let a whine out.

Someone's hand floats into his vision, holding two little white pills. Mac's hand, Charlie realizes when he takes in the tattoo. Charlie stares at the pills long enough for Mac to sigh and say: "Take them" in a sad, soft voice. Says it so quiet Charlie almost doesn't hear him over the roar in his ears and the shouting from Dennis. Mac is kneeling just out of the puddle of glass and...whiskey? was he carrying whiskey and tequila and maybe some others it's all burning Charlie's nose, his hand with the pills outstretched to Charlie, but Mac's close enough that Charlie can see the fear in Mac's eyes.

Charlie reaches out his clumsy left hand, clumsier because it's shaking so hard he almost drops the pills in the maybe tequila and whiskey and glass puddle. He takes the pills and almost swallows them before he remembers they go under his tongue.

Dee says something to Mac. Charlie doesn't understand the words, she sounds so far away, or underwater... Dennis is still shouting about PTSD and in a quiet moment where he pauses to take a breath – even Dennis has to breathe when pissed – Charlie hears crinkling and looks at Mac. Mac's popping open another pill out of its little foil packet. Charlie wonders if he looks like he needs three pills, but Mac gives him a sheepish look and takes it himself. Charlie doesn't mind, he's offered ones to Mac before, after Mac has a nightmare that wakes Charlie up – usually it's the other way around, Charlie's a more violent thrasher – sometimes Mac gets so worked up that Charlie is sure the man will have a heart attack or something – and Mac looks really freaked out. So Charlie doesn't mind. Charlie just watches the other man for a long moment, finding comfort in seeing Mac. At some point the tight spider in his chest has loosened up its grip on his lungs enough that he can at least breathe a bit, though he's breathing too quick.

"You're sitting in glass, Charlie," Mac says when he sees he has Charlie's attention. His voice is funny and it takes Charlie a moment to realize that's because Mac's trying to keep the pill under his tongue and still talking.

"Yeah," Charlie agrees. He's not sure why this is a problem? His voice sounds awful. Like he just swallowed a bunch of broken glass.

Which. Oh. That might be the problem? He's about to say he's okay when there's a quiet sound from Frank, and it takes Charlie forever to realize it's a choking sound. And then he's up and sliding on a chunk of slippery glass caught under his shoe but he keeps on his feet (tries so hard not to think about the last time he slid around in this spot – then was blood, now is spilled whiskey and maybe tequila), and rushes at Dennis, who has Frank pinned to the pool table with a pool cue across his throat. Dennis is leaning all his weight down. Dee and Mac are with him, and it's all chaos and shouting and pulling.

Charlie catches the end of the pool cue, yanked aside by Mac, right between his legs and he goes down like a rock. He curls up on the ground, hands cupping his battered nuts, and Mac is shouting that he's sorry, while Dee and Frank and Dennis wrestle in the background and then that all fades away because Charlie sees the gun laying under the pool table and then everything else kind of fades away as he hears two gunshots, today and a day not that long past and it's not today that his brain sees, not really, but he can remember now, the gun going off in the bar as he came out of the keg room with the bottles and he also remembers laying on the floor watching Mac get shot can, hear Mac choking on his blood and and his eyes slipping closed and Charlie was so sure he'd never see Mac's eyes open again. Charlie squeezes his eyes shut against the memories, hands fisting in his hair.

The problem is, if Charlie's honest with himself, is that since that other bad night not so long ago where he drank too much rotgut vodka and ate too many pills, ever since then, Charlie's not been so good at fighting off memories. So he just lays there curled up tight and pulls on his hair, the pain in his scalp and his nuts enough to keep him grounded and in his body, but not enough pain to focus his stupid fucking brain on rather than the horrible sounds Mac made while he was dying on the floor.

The scuffle above him seems to stop all at once. Dennis is saying 'get out' in a low voice, dangerous in a way that makes even Charlie nervous, but Charlie doesn't open his eyes, thinking he's not the one that is being told to leave.  A door slams, and Charlie can't help but flinch at the loud bang that doesn't sound at all like a door slamming in his head for a moment, and curls up even tighter. The spider is back, long spindly legs around his heart and lungs. It's a big spider this time.

"Goddamn it," Mac says, soft and close to him.  Kneeling next to him, if Charlie were to guess, but he doesn't open his eyes to see. He _can't_.  He's half sure if he opens his eyes he'll see blood. Mac's blood. "Charlie, come on, man. Open your eyes. Everything's okay. No one's hurt."

"Speak for yourself," Dennis hisses from far away. "I think he broke my nose."

"Your nose isn't broken," Dee says, not in a fighting way in a trying to reassure her brother way.

Mac sighs. "No one's _shot_." He says, and it's the frustrated 'is that better?' in his voice that makes Charlie finally open his eyes. Mac can't be shot and bleeding to death and choking on his own blood if he sounds that pissy.

Charlie's still curled up pretty tight, but he can see enough of Mac's face to see the smile that opening his eyes pulls from the other man. It's encouraging. Mac wouldn't be smiling if he was shot. Charlie uncurls himself, wincing stupidly when a finger splint gets caught in his hair as he pulls his hands out of his hair. Mac's kneeling next to him. Charlie tries for a smile that falls somewhat short, and sits up, Mac's hands hovering near him but not touching because Mac _knows._

He stays sitting there for a moment, just trying to breathe a bit. Dennis is over behind the bar, holding a bar towel to his face and glaring hard. Not at them. At the world. Dee is walking towards them with a more than half full pint glass of water.

"Here," Dee says, holding it out to Charlie.

Charlie takes the water gratefully, his throat aches even though he hasn't been screaming. He takes a big swallow and chokes on it – it's not water it's fucking vodka - who fills a pint glass with vodka Charlie wonders as he groans through the burning in his nose from spitting vodka out it.

"Dee, what the fuck!" Mac screams, figuring out what she gave Charlie by way of the smell or Charlie's reaction, Charlie's not sure.

Dee says something in response, Charlie's not really listening. There's only one way to drown the fear spider. Charlie pounds back the remaining vodka.  It hurts. He doesn't normally drink vodka, especially no straight, hasn't since that other bad night. Vodka makes him too sad.

But it does its job. The burn goes all the way down to his belly, drowns the spider. He focuses on the burn, and that, the wetness on his jeans from where he sat in the spilled liquor, and the dulling throb between his legs from the pool cue all ground him. Betty says it's good to focus on things that are in the moment and that what he feels – says it will keep him grounded. She probably wouldn't be too happy that two of the three things he's trying to focus on are pain related, but that's what he's feeling.

Mac is still frowning at him in a worried way, like his own hands aren't shaking. He probably needs his own stiff drink, but won't get one because that would mean that he approved of what Dee did, giving Charlie the vodka.

"Can you stand up?" Mac asks him, after a few more moments of him just sitting there on the floor breathing.

Charlie nods, and does so, Mac hovering by his side the whole time, again not touching because he won't touch Charlie first if Charlie is having an anxiety attack. He reaches out and touches the back of Mac's shoulder, feels the tense muscle there and the way Mac is shaking under Charlie's hand. Fuck. That had to freak Mac out too. Charlie had reached out to say thank you without saying it with his words, but now he rubs his hand in a small circle and gives Mac a sad little smile, hoping he's comforting his friend. Mac ducks his head. Shy because it's Charlie showing he cares, or because he's embarrassed by his vulnerability, Charlie doesn't know.

"Let's get out of here," Mac says to him.

Charlie nods. He can feel his eyes wanting to drift over to That Spot, can feel it tugging at him like there's a rope around his eyeballs – ew. If he stays here, he's going to lose his shit or drink way more than he should. He kinda felt like he was going to lose his shit before he even got to the bar, thanks to the things he spoke with Betty about, but now he feels certain. Still, he argues: "I should clean up the —"

"-No. Dee's got it." Mac answers, cutting him off.

"Dee?" Charlie asks, looking at her where she's sitting on the stool closest to the office door, frowning at the bar top.

She looks up, jumping a little like she's surprised he's speaking to her. "You can clean up the spill? Please? We gotta get out of here," Mac asks, and it must surprise her to hear the word please, because she just nods. Or maybe it's the pleading, 'I'm going to Freak Out' with big letters in Mac's voice that does it. Because neither she nor Dennis complain when Mac and Charlie leave.

+++

A rat. Frank fired his gun at a fucking rat. A stupid little rodent that Charlie could have taken out in two seconds Frank fucking Reynolds decided it would be a good idea to fire his fucking canon of a handgun at it, and now, over an hour later, Mac is still fucking shaking.  He and Charlie are sitting on the couch, looking at the tv but Mac is pretty sure neither of them are actually watching the show that's on.

Next to him, Charlie yawns. Right. Between the glass of fucking vodka (thanks Dee, what the fuck?) and the double dose of his anxiety meds, Charlie's probably tired as hell. Mac's got a beer in his hand, he wanted something stronger, but the one pill he took from Charlie was making him feel slow and he didn't think adding liquor to the mix would be wise. So beer. That's, like, not even alcohol, really.

They've not talked about what happened. Not really their style, even with all the shit they've been through in the last few months. It's too much, too embarrassing to talk about how the gunshot from Frank and made Mac drop to the floor and Charlie drop all the bottles he was carrying before dropping down the ground himself – fuck Mac had been scared as shit when he looked up to see Charlie on the floor, almost in the exact spot where he himself fell That Night.

Besides him, Charlie makes a sad little sound that makes Mac jump. But when he looks over, Charlie's asleep, head resting on the couch's back, neck twisted in a weird way that won't feel good later. He's still loosely holding his beer. Remembering all the shit that came the last time they passed out on the couch together (poured beer on Charlie's head lead to a revelation that Mac was still trying to figure out how he felt about and then Charlie _almost fucking died_ ), Mac reaches over and takes the beer out of Charlie's hand and sets it on the coffee table. Charlie doesn't wake up.

Charlie's not been sleeping so good lately, though he'd deny that. Not since the night Mac tried to hook up with that douche nozzle. Mac is glad Charlie's getting some sleep now – glad enough that he tries not to shift his weight around too much. Charlie is the lightest sleeper he's ever met (no, Mac doesn't want to think about _why_ Charlie is such a light sleeper) and Mac's afraid too much moving will wake him.

The show rolls into another episode. Mac finishes his beer and risks drinking Charlie's rather than getting up for another. Since he's been staying with him and Dennis, Charlie has been better about hygiene. Started brushing his teeth and everything. So Mac thinks it'll be okay to drink from his beer.

At some point, he must drift off himself, brain exhausted from the stress of the day. He wakes to the odd feeling of something moving around on his lap, squirming and whining. Blinking his eyes open he's surprised to find it's dark in the apartment, and it's Charlie, laying with his head curled up against Mac's belly that's moving around on his lap. Charlie's mumbling too low in his sleep for Mac to figure out what he's saying.

Mac reaches out and shakes Charlie's shoulder, figuring anything that's got him squirming and whining like he is isn't a good dream. Charlie flinches awake, throwing himself away from Mac so violently that he crashes to the floor in a heap, thankfully not braining himself on the coffee table.

"Charlie?" Mac asks, worried and small sounding, pathetic to his own ears. He's not sure why _this_ has him so scarred, but he is. Maybe he's still worked up from before. Fuckin' Frank.

Charlie stares up at him with huge, sad and scarred eyes. He swallows hard, once, twice, and Mac has time to think 'oh shit he's gonna puke' before Charlie is scrambling up, and half running, half falling to the bathroom.

Mac sighs, wincing at the sound of Charlie getting sick. Usually nightmares don't do that to him. It must have been a bad one. Mac goes to the kitchen, wincing at the slight tightness in his chest. He rotates his shoulder the way one of the doctors showed him how to loosen up the tight muscles, and sighs because there's nobody around to hear him do it. He hates that it's been months and he still has moments where his chest hurts like this, moments where it feels like he'll never catch his breath again when he's at the gym and working out too hard (Betty seems to think he's got a phobia of having trouble breathing again, and Mac wishes he could argue and say that's not the case but it kind of is). Standing around feeling sorry for himself isn't helping anyone, so Mac forces himself to move. He fills a pint glass with tap water and heads to the bathroom.

Charlie didn't close the door let alone lock it. Which is good. Since the night Charlie ate too many pills and cut himself and shit Mac's not so good with locked doors between him and the gang, but especially Charlie. He's afraid Charlie will try and off himself again (no matter what Charlie said, Mac knew what a suicide attempt looked like) and there'd be a locked door between them. Even about to puke, Charlie knew to leave the door unlocked. It makes Mac smile a little. Until he sees that Charlie's still on his knees all hunched in on himself looking small and sad in a way Mac has seen way too much of since the shooting.

"You okay?" Mac asks, even though the answer is pretty obvious. How could Charlie be okay when he was puking his guts up after a nightmare?

Charlie shrugs, looking miserable. He holds out his hand for the glass of water, which Mac hands over. He doesn't drink it, just raises an eyebrow, making Mac laugh despite it all.  "Yeah, dude. It's water. I'm not a fuckin' lunatic like Dee," Mac assures him.

Charlie grins at him and takes a drink. Mac feels stupid standing up while Charlie sits on the floor – he feels too big, too dumb standing there. So he sits on the edge of the tub, twisted to face the other man.

"I can't believe she gave me vodka. I hate vodka," Charlie says. "I haven't drank that since —"

"I know," Mac says, cutting him off so he doesn't have to hear it, _can't_ hear it, right now. Mac's already been thinking too much about that horrible fucking night, of seeing Charlie's eyes roll up in his head and how sure Mac was that Charlie was going to die.

Charlie gives him a look. One that says he knows exactly what Mac is thinking. Once upon a time, Mac used to be afraid of that look. Back when he was still hiding under a pile of denial so heavy it was hard to breathe. Back then, Charlie wasn't like this often, what with all the drugs and booze. Now that he's not living with Frank and he's going to therapy, Charlie's back to being super perceptive. Mac hadn't realized just how far down Frank dragged Charlie, until it was too late. Until they were both fucked up by one of Frank's mistakes (one he's never fully bothered to explain to them) and Frank went MIA and he and Charlie started to see Betty the shrink. She had convinced them both to lay off the drugs and drinking (at least to the point of total shitfacedness). And it's like he's been watching parts of Charlie return. This is one of them, one of Mac's favorite and least favorite thing (during bad times when Mac's trying to hide) about his longest friend.

"What time is it, anyway?" Charlie asks, pulling Mac out of his thoughts.

Mac stands up to get his cellphone out of his pocket. "Uh, just past eleven."

Charlie looks surprised, but he just nods. After a moment, he holds the glass out to Mac, which Mac takes so Charlie can pull himself to his feet. Charlie surprises Mac by going over to the sink and getting his toothbrush, so Mac leaves him to brush his teeth - nobody wants an audience for that. Mac wanders into the kitchen, his stomach vaguely rumbling in a way that says he should eat something, even if he doesn't feel all that hungry. Charlie should too – neither of them got lunch and they both slept through dinner.

There's not much in the fridge, but he manages to make two turkey sandwiches by the time Charlie comes out of the bathroom. Mac holds out the plate for Charlie without asking, and Charlie seems to get that Mac's going to press it, so he nods and takes the plate. Mac grabs them beers and they wind up back on the couch. Neither of them talk about the nightmare that woke Charlie, Mac can assume what it was about, given the incident earlier.

They don't really talk about anything. But that's okay. They're together. Sometimes that's enough to fight off the bad memories.

+++

Charlie wakes up confused for a second as to what woke him. Then there's rumbling under his ear. It takes him a long moment to figure out that's because he's laying with his head on Mac's chest, and Mac is talking.

"…we're okay," Mac is saying, once Charlie's brain decides to figure out that the other man is talking English.

"You sure about that, Mac? You were wide awake. And…you two are... cuddling," Dennis says, sounding embarrassed to be seeing that.

Charlie understands what must be going on: Dennis has come in to check on them/check in with Mac since he got home. Mac is a pain in the ass about making Dennis wake him up if he gets in after Mac. At least the hourly check ins have stopped after again after Mac started those back up after everything that happened this past summer. Charlie knows he caused some of that backslide for Mac (Betty uses the word backslide a lot with Charlie, so he's learned what it meant, learned to see when Mac was doing it too) by getting so fucked up on pills and booze that one horrible night and almost dying on top of the whole Mac getting shot at fucking Paddy's thing. So Dennis waking Mac, and by extension Charlie, when he got home was at least better than Mac checking his cellphone every hour on the hour.

Mac sighs, and that sounds weird, hearing it under his one ear and in his other ear. But Charlie likes to hear Mac breathing. It's a comfort when he's in the same bed, but even more with his head on Mac's chest. Charlie didn't go to sleep like this, he must have twisted to cuddle Mac in his sleep. Sought out comfort. Huh. Normally his stupid brain likes the idea of a person nearby, but his dumber body doesn't like a person touching him.

 "Today wasn't a good day for him," Mac says, after a moment, almost so quiet that Charlie doesn't hear him. There's a defensiveness in Mac's voice. Charlie suddenly realizes that neither Mac nor Dennis know he's awake. So Charlie tries to keep his breath even like he's asleep.

"Yeah. You either," Dennis answers, and he doesn't sound anything but kind in his reminder. Which: _fuck_. Charlie had been so upset about everything that happened today, about the awful memory of watching Mac get shot trying to protect him, almost _die_ for helping him, that he somehow forgot to double check in and make sure Mac, _the one who was shot_ , was fucking okay.

His realization that he's such a bad friend makes Charlie go tense, his unsplinted hand ball up into a fist around Mac's t-shirt, and Mac rubs the hand that's hooked under Charlie and curls around him up and down Charlie's arm and murmurs 'shh' like he does when Charlie wakes up shaking or screaming. Except Mac's not usually touching him or cuddling him close like this. Charlie likes this. He gives a small sigh and nuzzles his face into the other man's chest before he can stop himself, eyes still closed.

There's silence, except for the sound of Mac's steady breathing and steadier thump thud of his heart under Charlie's ear. It's the best two sounds Charlie's ever heard.

Dennis clears his throat. "Well. I'm home. Goodnight," he says after a minute, and his voice sounds weird, in the way it had the night Mac brought home that douche canoe and Dennis parked himself on the couch next to Charlie with a bottle of whiskey. Told Charlie: you'll need this. And Charlie had thought he meant cause he was sleeping alone on the couch, but now Charlie's not so sure that was the thing Dennis was trying to say, at all.

Mac tells Dennis good night. The door closes and the light against his eyelids goes away. Mac's still rubbing his arm. Charlie almost drifts off again, but then Mac asks, quietly: "You awake, Charlie?" all soft.

Charlie sighs and opens his eyes. He goes to pull away, figuring that's what Mac wants, but Mac's arm tightens around him. "You don't have to," Mac says, but the pressure across his back eases, because Mac knows that holding him too tight on a bed will freak Charlie the fuck out. Charlie's still figuring out what things will freak him out, now that he sort of remembers a lot of awful things he used to think were just nightmares, but Mac seems to know on instinct what will set Charlie off. So Charlie stays where he is, sighing again as he settles back in. At some point, his arm stretched across Mac's chest in his sleep, and Charlie gives Mac a little squeeze, not sure what to say.

Mac rubs his arm again, up and down and so very gentle. Charlie's not sure why it makes his eyes sting, but it does and he squeezes them shut. He tries to breathe like a box like Betty tells him to, recognizes after a false start or two that Mac is doing it with him. Charlie's not sure if it's on purpose.

"Today-" Mac starts, and his hand pauses on Charlie's upper arm, grips for a moment before Mac exhales and just rests his hand there. "Today really fucked me up more than I thought, dude." Mac says it quiet. Charlie's again reminded of childhood sleepovers and secrets reveled in the dark. Even as teenagers, it was easier to talk drunk and stoned and in the dark, Mac up on the bed and Charlie on the floor because by then Mac had decided it was too gay to sleep in the same bed. "I can't sleep."

Right. Dennis had said that Mac was awake. Which meant that Charlie was sleep cuddling an awake Mac and Mac didn't mind it. For a long moment, Charlie doesn't know what to say. Then he decides to go with the truth: "Hearing the gun go off scared the shit out of me. I thought you were shot and that I'd see blood everywhere again." His voice is shaking.

"Yeah. You checked out for a moment, there, bro. We both hit the ground and I thought—I thought that this time it was—" Mac brakes off with a choked back sob. Charlie can feel how tense the other man is, under him, holding in tears with sheer force of will because Mac is the most stubborn person Charlie's ever met.

Charlie sits up. As nice as clinging to Mac is right now, it may not be the thing that Mac needs. This is a thing that needs eye contact. Mac looks up at him, eyes wide wet marbles, sad and scared and a thousand other emotions Charlie is too stupid to know the names off, but he can see even in just the dim light from the window.  Charlie finds Mac's hand without looking away from him, squeezes it once. "I was fine," he says, knowing in his gut that that was what Mac was going to say, that he thought it was Charlie shot this time.

Mac nods and sits up too, but he doesn't pull his hand out of Charlie's. Which is good. Charlie doesn't want to let go. Mac surprises Charlie by reaching out with his free hand, cupping Charlie's jaw. Charlie doesn't flinch away, might even lean into the touch a little bit. "Yeah. I was so scared you were dead. That—" again, Mac's words are cut off by a sob, and tears fall from his too wet to hold them in eyes, so that's good, Mac's not fighting it anymore. Charlie can see the sheer devastation in Mac's eyes, the loss that didn't happen but still scared Mac to the core.

And under that… _oh_... under that is a love Charlie knew was there but didn't think it was that strong. "Oh," Charlie says, stupidly, lamely, but the pieces are clicking together in a way that puzzles never did for Charlie because not much has ever made as much sense in his life as Mac and him, not even little cardboard pieces with the promise that their matches are in the box too. Charlie's only ever had one piece he connects perfectly with.

"Huh," he says too, because his chest has gone so tight he can't breathe in or make any other words. Because the love that he sees is so fierce and real and -  fuck it.

Charlie leans in, and Mac's hand on his jaw follows him the whole way, Mac leans up that last inch and fuck they're kissing.

Woah.

It's not a bad kiss, not a deep wet one, like the waitress liked to kiss like, all sloppy and gross. It's just the dry press of his lips to Mac's, but it's wonderful. It only lasts a few heartbeats that stretch in that weird way, and then Mac is pulling back, but his hand is still against Charlie's jaw, thumb stroking lightly in a way that is almost more intimate than the kiss. Charlie's not really a dude who likes to be touched. But he doesn't want Mac's hand to leave his skin.

But it does. Because something sad and weird and closed off slams down over Mac's face. It happens so quick that it makes Charlie's head spin. Mac's hand goes from against his face to pushing at Charlie's chest, rough and there are more tears on Mac's cheeks and he says: "That's not funny, Charlie," in a broken voice.

"I didn't think it was?" Charlie answers, but it comes off as a question and he's so confused but Mac is still pushing against him and Mac is super strong now, so Charlie shuffles away, right to the end of the bed and gets to his feet. Charlie turns on the lamp like light will help him understand what's happening. Mac's still sitting on the bed, looking a mix between sad and angry and kind of like he wants to punch Charlie.

"Don't tease me like this."

"I wasn't teasing you!" Charlie's voice is high and desperate to understand what Mac is trying to accuse him of.

Mac gets off his side of the bed and comes around to stand really close to Charlie. Mac doesn't often use his height to look down at Charlie, to make Charlie feel small and weak, but he does now, nearly chest to chest with him, Mac glares down at him. Charlie looks up at him, confused. Mac wraps his hand in the front of Charlie's horse t-shirt, his sleeping shirt, pulls Charlie up so Charlie's on the balls of his feet and says, quietly, so quietly that if they weren't so fucking close Charlie wouldn't hear him: "Don't fuck with me Charlie. Not like this." Mac's voice shakes as he says it.

Charlie thinks of all the horrible people in Mac's life who have taken his love and ignored it, like Luther and Ms. Mac, or worse: Dennis, who saw Mac's love and threw it in his face rather than return it. Charlie gets it. Gets why Mac is trembling, using anger before any other emotion in true Mac form, just because it's easier and safer. Charlie blinks away the tears that are forming in the corners of his eyes just thinking about how all these people have failed Mac and didn't deserve his love, and says, just as quietly: "I'd never do that to you, Mac. _Never_."

Mac's eyes are going back and forth trying to take him in, trying to figure out if Charlie's a liar. Charlie's not lying, and he tries and show all his love for his best friend of like, over thirty years on his face. Mac's anger starts to melt away, and he lets go of Charlie's shirt, taking a step back. Charlie rocks back down to his flat feet.

"Okay," Mac says slowly, eyebrows trying to touch each other as he thinks. Charlie's surprised by the urge to lean up on his toes and kiss that spot, but he doesn't do it, afraid that Mac will snap at him if he does. They're in middle of something wild and dangerous, Charlie can't be impulsive right now.  "Okay," Mac says again and sits on the bed. "You're not fucking with me...But...You're straight, dude." He says it to the floor, like he can't look Charlie in the eyes for this conversation.

Charlie frowns down at him. "Um…not really? I never said I was?" He says it like a question again, because he's confused. Charlie's never uttered the words 'I'm straight' before.

"But—" Mac frowns and stops himself, like he has to gather his thoughts together. After a moment he says: "But, the waitress, Charlie. And all girls in high school."

Charlie shrugs. "You dated plenty of chicks, Mac...And...Can't someone like both? There's a word for that, isn't there?"

Mac nods. "Bisexual."

Charlie grins at him. "Yeah! That. That's what I am I guess? I mean. I didn't know until, like, a little while ago. Betty used a different word too. Cause, like, I don't really wanna have sex with someone unless I know 'em?"

Mac's eyebrows try to touch again as he thinks, then he says: "Demisexual."

Charlie snaps his fingers. "That's it!" He smiles at Mac – he should have known Mac would know all the sexual terms.

Mac smiles back at him, then asks: "You talked to Betty about wanting to have sex with me?"

Charlie bites his lip and nods, not sure if that was like, a not cool thing to do. Or if Mac doesn't want to have sex with him. Charlie feels his ears go hot and looks down at his bare feet, curls his toes in the carpet. He can't get himself to make words, suddenly. What if Mac doesn't want him like that?

Mac laughs. Charlie so didn't expect that. He looks up, and Charlie's face must look mad, because Mac holds up his hands, still laughing. "No, no. It's not you. It's — I've been telling Betty about this too!"

"That I want to have sex with you?" Charlie asks, confused.

"No! That I wanted to have sex with you!"

"Oh!" Charlie says, then laughs too, because it's funny. He feels weird standing while Mac is sitting so he goes over and plops down on the bed next to him. Not super close, but touching close, if Mac wanted to touch him.

Mac twists to face him and asks: "Is that why she said she wanted to meet with us together next week?"

Shit. That was only this morning, wasn't it? What a long, weird day they've had. Charlie nods. "I was telling her about how awful it was listening to you bang that asshole. And then she was like 'Charlie, do you have romantic feelings for Mac'? And that kinda freaked me out when I realized the answer was yes."

"But you kissed me, even if you were freaked out," Mac says, grinning at him.

Charlie nods, feels himself returning Mac's happy grin. "Yeah, Mac. Cause you're worth it," he answers truthfully. He's not sure anyone's ever said that to Mac. That he was worth _anything_ and Charlie means it. Mac is worth _everything_ and fuck anybody who was too dumb to see that. Mac is totally worth the fear spiders crawling around his guts.

Mac smiles a smile that's big and so painfully rare. It looks like his face is going to split open, he smiles so big. Again, Charlie finds himself smiling back at him, unable to stop himself from reflecting back that kind of happiness. Mac deserves that kind of happiness.

"So…what now?" Mac asks, after a moment of them just smiling at each other like dorks.

"What do you mean?" Charlie asks, confused.

"I mean…what's the plan for right now, Charlie? Tonight. Do you want to go back to sleep or…?" Mac trails off, his ears going red.

Oh. _Oh._ Charlie looks away from Mac, down at the carpet. Mac means have sex. _Shit!_ He's not really ready for that and what if Mac thinks it means Charlie was lying about wanting him like that, or like, Mac thinks he's being a prude or something or—

"Charlie. Charlie. Breathe," Mac says, inhaling extra loud so that Charlie will breathe with him.

Charlie does. He just sits there and breathes like a box for a few moments with Mac, until the fear spider that was crawling up and wrapping around his heart goes back down to his lower belly where it lives.

"Look at me?" Mac asks, all gentle and kind and how did Charlie not see that love before now? Maybe he was afraid to see it.

It takes a moment for him to screw up the courage, but he forces his eyes to connect with Mac's. And Mac isn't mad or annoyed looking. In fact, Mac smiles at him, so gentle, like his voice just then. He holds out his hand for Charlie to take, always so careful not to touch Charlie first in moments like this, and Charlie takes it, of fucking course he takes Mac's hand.

"It's okay, Charlie. I'm not…" Mac trails off, frowning in concentration, like he's trying to pick his words very carefully. "I'm not going to rush you, or make you do anything you don't want to do. And I won't be upset if you're not ready for things like that."

Oh. It's like Mac reads him like a book. Well, like a normal person reads a book, not like Charlie who struggles with each letter and getting them to stay in the right order to make a word. "But…you like sex." Charlie argues in a small voice that sounds like a bunch of fear spiders have crawled up and made webs in his throat.

Mac shrugs easily. "I mean, I do, yeah. But I don't mind, ya know, taking care of things myself, if I have to." Mac makes the universal masturbating gesture with his hand and a giggle bursts out of Charlie before he knows it's coming.

"Okay," Charlie says when he's done laughing. Then asks: "Why don't you mind?" before he can stop himself.

Mac gives him a _look_. The kind of look that says 'you're a dumbass' that Mac very rarely gives Charlie. But then he's back to smiling at Charlie and Charlie feels better instantly. "Because _you're_ worth it too, Charlie."

_Oh._  Charlie lets out another surprised little giggle, like there's too much happy in his chest and it has to burst out somehow. Mac grins at him. Charlie grins back at Mac.

And then he leans in for their second kiss.

+++

The End

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading!
> 
> I think I have more to say in this little 'verse. Stay tuned. 
> 
> Follow me on tumbler ~mabergunexpress for updates (aka whining).


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